Shamus
by AWorldWithoutShrimp
Summary: At the end of her rope, Taylor turns to the detective rogue Shamus, aka Lisa Wilbourn, for help, and finds both a job and a friend in the process. But will their partnership survive amidst the hazards of Brockton Bay?
1. Transfer 1-1

Transfer 1.1

My fingers rapped softly against the dull glass window in the door.

"Come iiiiiiin," lilted a sing-song voice from inside.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The door swung open to reveal a small office in what might charitably be described as an advanced state of organized chaos. Heaps of books and paper lay everywhere, and no less than three different laptops whirred atop different piles. The person I had come to see reclined on a folding chair behind a desk square in the middle of the room.

A vulpine grin split the face of Shamus, Brockton Bay's resident parahuman-cum-private investigator. She steeped her fingers and leaned forward.

"Hiya, Taylor. Thanks for dropping by. The boredom has been _killing _me."

I'd imagined Shamus to be a grizzled man, probably in his 30s, with a few scars and a no-nonsense attitude. Instead, I now stared at a blonde girl who couldn't have been more than a year older than I was, clad in an expertly-tailored gray suit. A brown fedora perched atop her head at a rakish angle completed the ensemble.

Shamus's green eyes twinkled in the recesses of her simple face mask.

"Am I not quite what you expected?"

I snapped out of my introspective reverie. Rude and spacey wasn't the first impression I'd hoped to give.

"Uh, no, to be honest," I said. "Based on your name, I was picturing some guy straight off the pages of a Raymond Chandler novel."

Shamus smirked.

"That's the idea," she said. "Helps me keep a low profile."

She gestured with the folder she held toward a faded armchair opposite the desk.  
"Take a seat, hon."

Gingerly, I did. I couldn't afford to screw this up. This was my one shot out of the hell my life had become.

Shamus swung her legs up onto her desk as she began rifling through the manila folder she held. I noticed the words "Taylor Hebert" scrawled on the folder tab. She had a _folder _on me?

"Ah, there we go," Shamus said. She plucked a sheet from the folder.

"Taylor Hebert. Age, sixteen. Currently attending Winslow High. Family, father, Danny Hebert. Mother Annette Hebert, deceased." Her seemingly perpetual grin softened. "My condolences, by the way."

I murmured something polite-sounding. My fists clenched. Why would she remind me of that?

Shamus gazed at me a moment before continuing.

"No criminal record." She flashed a thumbs-up. "Good for you! That's surprisingly rare in this line of work." She glanced back down at the paper. "Brief hospital stay in January of this year, and that's about all I dug up on you. Sorry for the intrusion. I don't take a case without doing my research. You wouldn't _believe _some of the lunatics who've come through that door. Gotta watch out for number one, you know?"

"Of course," I said.

"Now, before we get down to business, anything else I should know about?"

A fly stirred on the office's floor lamp.

"No," I lied.

Her grin never diminished.

"Then let's talk," she said. "How can I help you?"

I fiddled with the zipper on my backpack.

"I need you to help me transfer schools," I said.

Try as I might, I hadn't been able to come up with a way to make that sound less ridiculous.

"Well, that's new." Shamus quirked her head. "May I ask why?"

"Uh, is that really important?" I asked. Explaining would just make me seem even more pathetic, if that was even possible.

" 'Fraid so, hon."

I bit my lip. Why did she keep calling me "hon", anyways? She couldn't be more than a year older than me. "Let's just say it's a hostile environment and leave it at that," I said.

Shamus nodded sympathetically.

"I get it," she said. "They put you in the hospital. I'd be upset too. And the school didn't lift a finger, did they?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Of course," she said. "See, shit like this is why I dropped out. What I'd like to hear, though, is why you let them."

"Why?" I said. "Because then the people doing this to me would just escalate more. Because then I'd waste my dad's money on a fight we can't win." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. I didn't want to. "Because everybody's quick to jump to their defense but doesn't give a shit if I die in a locker. _That's_ why."

There came that grin again. What was wrong with this girl? There wasn't anything funny about this.

"You've got some fight left after all," she said. "That's good. Sorry for riling you up. Bad habit of mine. I'm working on it, honest."

"So, Taylor," she said, "now that we've established why you're here, why should I take your case?"

I wilted. I'd asked myself the same question, more than once. I still didn't have a good answer.

"I can pay you," I said. "I don't have a lot of money, but I can get more, as much as you need."

Shamus drummed her fingers on the desk. "Sorry, hon, but there's no way you can meet my rates, even if you did have a job."

Bitter disappointment welled in my stomach. Coming here had been just another stupid Taylor mistake.

"Please," I said. "I'll do anything, just help me. I can't live like this."

Shamus walked around her desk. She leaned toward me, closer and closer, until her sparkling grin seemed to fill my entire field of vision. She twirled a stray curl of my hair around her finger.

"_Anything?" _she whispered huskily into my ear.

I felt my face flush. This girl was crazy. _Time to leave_.

Before I could will myself into motion, she snorted and collapsed back onto the desk, consumed in a fit of giggling.

"Oh man, you should have seen your face!" she said, wiping a tear away from her mask. "Relax, I'm not gonna jump you. We bat for the same side."

I stared at the floor. Keeping a neutral expression had become difficult. "I'd better go," I said. "Sorry to bother you."

Shamus wagged a finger at me. "Ah-ah-ah," she said. "Hang tight for a sec, 'kay? Sorry for messing with you. I wasn't lying when I said I really can't help myself."

She hopped onto the desk, her legs dangling off the edge. Her eyes darted left and right in comically exaggerated glances. She leaned in conspiratorially, though at a more respectable distance this time.

"I'm going to let you in on a secret," she said in a mock-whisper. "Just between you and me. Can't leave this room, you understand?"

I nodded. It couldn't hurt to hear what she had to say before I left.

I hoped.

"I don't actually do this for the money," she said. Her vividly green eyes twinkled. "Money's nice, sure, but I could be sipping drinks all day in a penthouse for the next sixty years starting tomorrow if I wanted. I do this for fun."

She sprang down from her perch and clasped my shoulders. "And, you know, blackmailing some stuck-up bitch of a principal sounds pretty damn _fun _to me."

I froze. Was she saying what I thought?

I met her gaze. "You mean…"

Shamus smiled. "I'm in."

Shamus rummaged through one of her many haphazard pillars of paper.

"Principal's Blackwell, right?" A quick wave forestalled my reply. "Sorry, thinking out loud. I do that a lot." She shifted aside a few books. "I really should clean up this place. A-ha!" She tugged out a manila envelope from between two large, heavy texts on economic theory.

"I have files on pretty much everybody who's anybody in this town," she said as she thumbed through the papers. "You never know when you might need some leverage."

She briefly held up a page, then sighed. "Admittedly, my info on high school principals runs a bit sparse, though I think that's understandable."

"You know, if it'd be easier, I could always cut out the middleman and go right to the people causing your problem," Shamus said. "I can be _very_ persuasive."

The wicked look on her face didn't inspire much faith in that solution.

"No," I said firmly. "No, I just want out. As long as I never have to see them again, I don't care what they do."

"Well, you're a nicer person than I am," she said. "No objection to my leaning on the principal, though, right?"

"I'm not trying to get her fired, but I wouldn't shed any tears."

Shamus nodded, and eyed me with excitement bordering on the predatory.

"I can work with that. Anything else that might be good for me to know?"

I shrugged helplessly.

"That's really it."

"No problemo," she said. "We'll have you kicking back with the trust fund kids in Arcadia by the end of the week."

I wasn't sure I shared her confidence, but knowing someone was genuinely on my side was an immense relief.

"Don't look so gloomy," she said. "I really am good. The Brockton Bay school system doesn't stand a chance."

A watch alarm buzzed from a shelf creaking under the weight of a truly absurd number of papers. Shamus's head snapped around.

"Time flies!" she said. "Listen, you know where to reach me if anything comes up. I'll be in touch. Hang in there while I do the cloak-and-dagger stuff, alright?"

She grabbed my hand in both of hers and shook vigorously.

"Thanks for stopping by! Not to hustle you out, but my next appointment…well, best if you don't know! Rest assured I take client confidentiality _very_ seriously." She winked. "You'll be hearing from me soon!"

After gathering my bag, I left to a cheery wave as Shamus shoved aside stacks of paper.

Torrents of information spilled into my mind as I stopped resisting my power. Giving away even the slightest hint that I was a fellow parahuman could have tipped Shamus off. She had come across as pretty okay by cape standards, but getting outed before my big public debut would not be a great way to launch a career already jeopardized by the fact that I seemed to have intercepted my powers on their way to a two-bit, cackling supervillain.

Against all instinct, my lips twitched into a faint smile. I'd never really expected anything but getting laughed out of the office. If Shamus lived up to her reputation, I might actually be able to muddle my way out of the awful mess my life had become.

All I had to do was survive the next few days.

After the last few years, what was one more week?

**A/N:**

Shamus is a completed story of roughly ~77,000 words in five 5-part episodic arcs which will be posted Mondays and Fridays until its conclusion. I've been working on it on and off for several years now, and am thrilled to finally have it out the door. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

A note on divergence: The main "butterfly" for this story is Thomas Calvert dying of his wounds after the encounter with Nilbog. No Coil, so no Undersiders, so the Empire is in the ascendant in Brockton. All events regarding Taylor's life unfolded as normal, up until her first night on patrol, where she failed to find a single criminal or person to help. Suffering through another week of bullying after that was the final straw which sent her to Lisa/Shamus for help.

Since I had Lisa do a little teasing in Chapter 1, I want to stress that this is a fic about Taylor & Lisa as friends, not a couple, so as to avoid misleading anyone interested in Taylor x Lisa. If you're a Taylor x Lisa fan, I hope to still have you as a reader, but I'd rather be honest with you guys up front to avoid any disappointment.

Anyways, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!


	2. Transfer 1-2

I yawned and stretched. Judging by the purply darkness beyond my desk window, night had snuck up on me while I wasn't paying attention. A quick glance at my alarm clock revealed that I'd spent more time scribbling in my notebook than I'd thought. Given what I had to think about, though, I felt that a little distractedness was understandable. Not only had I met a bonafide cape, but they'd actually agreed to help me. I still didn't quite want to believe it, honestly. Distancing myself just seemed prudent. For all I knew, she might have thought toying with some stupid high schooler would be a diverting way to spend an otherwise boring afternoon. After all, she had no real reason to want to help me, her claims about what she got out of her work notwithstanding.

What's more, she clearly enjoyed messing with people, if our brief meeting was anything to go by. In the blink of an eye, she had gone from completely serious to mercilessly teasing, and then right back again, without so much as batting an eyelash. The whole effect was more more than a little mystifying.

My eyes strayed to the the floor of my room, as though my gaze might somehow pierce through the wood and fall upon the coal chute in the basement where I'd stored my costume. I could go out this coming weekend, but why bother? I'd wandered around all night last weekend without anyone so much as noticing me, much less asking me for help, and the next day I'd been tormented, just like always. I had been so naive to think that I could actually have changed my life by becoming a hero. My tormenters wouldn't know the difference, and even if they did somehow learn, they'd probably just make my life even worse out of sheer spite. How could going out in costume possibly have fixed anything when I spent six hours a day in living hell?

No, escape was my only chance now, which meant Shamus was my only chance. After this afternoon, despite her assurances, that left me more than a little apprehensive. With that in mind, I flipped open my laptop to check Parahumans Online before heading to bed. The usual back-and-forth about the ongoing slow-burn gang war dominated the Brockton Bay sub-forum, with posters expressing concern or, more disgustingly, glee, over the Empire's continued growth in strength. The ABB, the only other major organized criminal element in Brockton, kept getting pushed further and further into the margins, thanks to the Empire's overwhelming advantage in capes. With the lack of any other rival villain organizations to mount a real challenge to the Empire, the Protectorate and New Wave had more than they could manage in trying to check the neo-Nazis.

A colored notification on the site's top bar caught my attention. Apparently I had a message. Considering I was a friendless loser even in the blissful anonymity of cyberspace, that had to be from the only person I'd messaged recently. Namely, Shamus. After stumbling across a discussion about rumors of her on PHO in which she'd helpfully popped in to confirm her existence, clarify some facts, and then plug her services, I'd somehow found the courage to reach out to her and request a meeting.

Hopefully this wasn't notice that she'd changed her mind, but I figured it probably was.

I clicked on the message. Judging by the timestamp, she'd sent it a few hours ago. If she'd solved the problem _that_ quickly, she was even better than the rumors said.

** From: Shamus**

**Subject: **Pssst

look outside

-G

Bemused, I figured I might as well follow the suggestion.

Shamus stood under a streetlamp outside my window, her face and mask illuminated by the light of the phone at which she was idly twiddling away.

She glanced at her wrist.

Then, she spun around, met my gaze, and waved cheerily.

The unmistakable PHO "message received" notification chirped from my laptop's speakers.

** From: Shamus**

** RE: **Pssst

meet me downstairs

-S

What was she doing here? Dad might be home at any time, and the last thing I needed was for him to start associating me with capes. He'd never let me so much as put on a costume, let alone go out in one.

The chirp sounded once more.

** From: Shamus**

** RE: **Pssst

it's okay. he's working late. c'mon.

-S

Clearly, she wasn't going to take no for an answer. I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs. My mind burbled with a mixture of confusion at her sudden appearance and suppressed hope about what it might mean.

I paused in front of the front door for a moment, took a deep breath, and swung the door open, to reveal Shamus waiting expectantly on the stoop. She wore the same elegantly-tailored old-fashioned pantsuit and brown fedora from the afternoon, and had added to it a long, beige overcoat to complete the ensemble.

"Evening, miss," she murmured, tipping the fedora. Her bottle-glass green eyes sparkled with mischief below its brim. Upon taking a closer look at it, the hat looked battered, but deliberately so, as if she'd done it herself for the effect.

I fought valiantly to keep the incredulous look off my face.

"Nah, it's okay, I think it all looks ridiculous too," she said with a wide grin. "I'm just committed to character. You can say it out loud, by the way. I'm not gonna be offended."

Mindreading was supposed to be impossible for anybody short of the Simurgh, but that didn't make her uncanny insight any less creepy.

"Don't worry, it's not mind reading," she said.

_Really _creepy.

"Come in," I said, gesturing inside. I decided not to add _Before anyone sees you_.

"You're too kind," Shamus said as she stepped past me. "None of the neighbors are looking, by the way. I wouldn't blow your cover like that." She stepped over the threshold, and nodded appreciatively as I closed the door behind her. "Nice place."

"Oh, uh, thanks," I said. What could she possibly have planned in coming here? There was a real, live cape standing in my living room. A wave of self-consciousness welled up within me. Even the way I was standing felt awkward, if not outright wrong. I shifted from foot to foot, and then back again. To distract myself, I set a group of gnats to wheeling in an elaborate interlocking maneuver outside of my bedroom window.

"Hey, where's your kitchen?" Shamus asked. If she'd noticed my discomfiture, she was kind enough not to mention it.

"Uh, right over there," I said, indicating with a nod of my head. "Great, thanks," Shamus said. "You're a doll". She headed in the direction I'd pointed. I followed a step behind, despite it being my own house. Time to add "hosting" to the list of things Taylor Hebert was no good at.

Shamus stepped through the doorway into the kitchen, and swept it with a critical gaze. "Where do you keep the glasses? Wait, don't tell me."

She swung open a cabinet seemingly at random.

Naturally, she'd picked the right one.

"Hah!" Shamus crowed. She plucked a glass and filled it from the sink, then dropped into a seat at the kitchen table.

"It's a long walk from here to my office," she said, in between gulps of water. "Never underestimate the importance of proper hydration." She took another gulp. "It'll save your life."

"So, you're probably wondering why I'm here," she continued.

"The thought had occurred to me," I said, just a touch dryly. She clearly had quite the flair for the theatrical.

"Sure, I could have just explained everything over PHO, but where'd the fun be in that?" she said. "Plus, I like to provide a personal touch with my clients. Forum messages aren't great service, you know?"

"Well, I'm grateful that you took the time, but what can I help you with?"

That same mischievous twinkle danced through her eyes.

"You and I," she said, "are going to break into Winslow High."


	3. Transfer 1-3

We weren't even at the school yet, and I was already regretting coming along. How had I let her talk me into this?

Shamus frowned. "Aww, don't be like that!" she said peevishly. "Trust me, I'm a professional."

And she claimed she wasn't a psychic.

"I think a little concern is warranted here," I said. "Getting caught breaking and entering won't do much to help my case."

"Oh, we won't get caught," Shamus said, pooh-poohing my concern. "And if we do, I have this."

She held up a sleek black stun gun and thumbed the ignition stud with aplomb. Sizzling blue electricity crackled between the prongs.

Knowing that she hadn't come completely unprepared did lift my spirits a bit.

"I figured you would've had a revolver or something," I said. "Wouldn't that complete the the detective look a little better?"

"I had to compromise with the PRT on that point. Rogues have to walk a very fine line." A scowl crossed her face. "Personally, I think they should probably worry more about the villains, but what do I know? Plus, the first time you watch bullets bounce off somebody like rubber, you gain a little more respect for the humble electrical shock. This thing's more versatile than it seems."

I nodded. She had a point with that. Guns just didn't inspire the same sort of fear when Brockton Bay alone had at least a half-dozen capes capable of wading through gunfire like rain.

The school was no more than a few blocks away now. I adjusted the cheap domino mask Shamus had handed me before we left. It felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar on my face, especially compared to my own mask, but I had to wear it. When running with capes, secrecy was everything.

To that end, my bugs discreetly darted through the air for hundreds of feet in every direction. They found nothing but the usual nighttime pedestrian traffic, with no movements which suggested someone might be tailing us. Secure in the knowledge that nobody seemed to be following, I breathed a little easier. Sneaking into school after hours wasn't so risky a proposition when you could be absolutely sure you were alone.

Keeping my powers secret from Shamus would be tricky given her superhuman perception, but as she had repeatedly insisted, it wasn't mind reading. As long as she was telling the truth, I was pretty sure I could keep the secret. Bug control might not rank very high on the list of must-have superpowers, but you couldn't say it wasn't subtle.

I tried to find the silver lining to bug powers whenever possible.

Shamus whistled cheerily as we approached the school. We paused outside the main driveway. In the morning, buses packed full of students would cram in here one after the other. Now, in the dark, it was totally deserted.

Shamus contemplated the school for a moment before pointing toward a side door near the science classrooms.

"That one."

As we approached, bugs inhabiting the many dark recesses of Winslow floated through my awareness. Most of my peers would have been horrified to learn how many bugs could be found within five feet of any given bathroom stall. My bugs swept the hallways closest to our chosen entry point and failed to turn up any sign of security guards or janitors.

Not that I'd expected any. So far, Shamus's random decisions seemed to be anything but.

The dark bulk of the four-story school building drew up above us as we arrived next to the door. Through the nearby windows, I saw hallways, familiar but for how they now lay draped in shadow, with four out of five of the florescent ceiling lights extinguished.

"How are we going to get in?" I asked. "Won't it be locked?"

Shamus shrugged off her coat and tossed it to me. Caught off guard, I barely managed to keep the coat, which almost certainly cost more than my entire wardrobe, from tumbling onto the dirty concrete of the sidewalk.

Shamus cracked her knuckles and yanked down the door's handle.

The lock clicked.

She sighed. "I would've looked really cool if that worked. Well, can't win 'em all." Her hand darted into her suit pocket and produced a sleek, silver key.

I squinted. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but the surface of the key seemed to slither over itself like a mound of shimmering silver vipers.

Shamus held her thumb to the back of the key for several moments, then jammed it into the lock up to the hilt in one swift motion. Apparently she hadn't bothered to notice that the key was twice the length of the handle shaft.

"Tinkertech," she explained as the door swung outwards with a creaky groan. "Got it from the Toybox. This thing's a lifesaver."

Spend enough time on PHO and you'd hear all about the Toybox, the shadowy band of black-market tinkers. Shamus must not have been lying about the state of her finances if she could afford gear from them. I wondered once more about her motivation for helping me.

Shamus motioned for me to toss her coat. She slipped it back on and peered around the corner, then waved for me to follow. I tried to act properly nervous, like somebody who didn't know for a fact that this half of the school was totally empty.

I narrowly avoided stumbling into Shamus's back as she stopped short.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"I actually don't know where the principal's office is," she said. "You're up! Lead the way."

Shamus's seeming clairvoyance had become so constant that I hadn't expected I'd be needed, her assurances to the contrary.

We crept through the halls and up the staircases with no more than a whisper. The darkened rooms and eerie silence set me on edge. Empty or not, this place was just plain creepy at night, even when you could be confident that an axe murderer didn't lurk behind the next door. Even with all that, though, I found the daytime version much more unpleasant.

"We're here," I said. One twist of Shamus's key later, and we were inside.

Shamus produced a small but heavy-duty flashlight from her jacket pocket and shone the beam around the office. She muttered something to herself, then nodded.

Left to my own devices, I began to ponder what I'd been thinking once more as Shamus rummaged through Blackwell's office. Sure, the odds of us getting caught were virtually nil, but did I really want to resort to blackmail when trying to start a career as a hero? What if the PRT found out? What's more, would it even work?

Shamus gave me an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry, we're gonna nail this bitch to the wall," she said. She plopped into Blackwell's desk chair and cracked her knuckles.

"Let's crack a password," she said. "Bet I get it first try."

"I'll pass on that bet, thanks," I said.

"Ah, you've learned that it never pays to bet against me?" Shamus grinned. "I knew you were a sharp one."

Shamus's fingers flew over the keyboard. A melodious login tune rang out as Blackwell's desktop appeared.

"Piece of cake!" Shamus said. She retrieved a flash drive from her pocket.

My curiosity got the better of me. Before I could ask, Shamus spoke.

"Might be best if you don't know what I'm doing," she said. "Plausible deniability, and all that. I make a point of not getting my clients arrested."

"But you bring them on nocturnal break-ins?"

"Point taken." She plugged in the USB.

"Alright, spill," I said. "The curiosity is killing me."

"Oh, I'm just planting evidence that Blackwell planned to sell the identity of the Ward at this school," she said. "That ought to give me some nice leverage."

The blood left my face.

"You're doing _what?_"

Shamus shrugged.

"It's blackmail, hon. Nobody ever said it was going to be pretty. Believe me, this is me playing nice. Besides, where's the harm? Nobody'll ever find out. That's the whole deal with blackmail!"

"Sorry," I said. "I shouldn't criticize your methods. I really am grateful."

Shamus popped a piece of gum into her mouth.

"No biggie," she said. "Like I said, I pick gigs for fun. Haven't set foot in a school for a long time, so this seemed like a good chance to remind myself of what I wasn't missing."

Most capes kept information about their personal life carefully guarded, for obvious reasons. Shamus sharing even a bit took me by surprise.

"You said you dropped out, right?" I asked.

"Yup. I didn't see the point when I can make connections that would put a PhD to shame just by reading a book, you know? Plus, the hours sucked." She winked. "And this pays _way_ better."

"I get it," I said. "I was going to drop out too, before I came to you." Saying the truth out loud felt like prying a weight from my chest.

"Believe me, you are preaching to the choir," she said. "I'm amazed that you've stayed in school this long. You're a pretty tenacious chick. I probably would've made like Bakuda if some spoiled bitches put me in the hospital."

"I'll admit, I thought about it," I confessed. "But I couldn't see any way out that didn't end with me ruining my life, and that just felt like letting them win."

Shamus nodded.

"You're a better person than I am," she said. "Still, if you ever change your mind, say the word." She waved her fingers over the computer and grinned. "You wouldn't believe how much damage I can do from behind a keyboard."

I had a sneaking suspicion I was about to find out.

Shamus popped out the flash drive.

"Alright, I think we're done here," she said. "This is more than enough evidence for me to do my work. Once I threaten to notify the Protectorate that that she's planning to sell a Ward's identity to Bakuda in exchange for an early retirement, she'll have to play ball. The Protectorate doesn't fuck around with this stuff."

That plan might actually work. My heart beat a little bit faster.

"How did you know a Ward's identity, anyways? Won't the heroes go after you too if they find out about this?"

Shamus smirked.

"That's the best part. I don't even know who it is. Based on the records of Ward actions, I know Shadow Stalker has to go to school here, but I have no idea who she is. But this principal? She _definitely_ knows. So, all I had to do is drop the name 'Shadow Stalker' a few times in a few very suspicious emails. The PRT would make their own inferences from there, and this lady doesn't want that kind of attention, so she'll cave." She waggled her eyebrows. "Pretty good, right?"

I had to nod at that.

We carefully tidied up a few odds and ends that had been disturbed during Shamus's search, and stepped back into the halls. They didn't seem quite as unsettling now. My rotating patrols of bugs confirmed once more that no surprises awaited.

"Hey, thanks for letting me drag you along," Shamus said. "This stuff is no fun without somebody to talk to. What's the point in being smart if you don't get to show off, right?"

I smiled. "I can't imagine," I said. Capes did love to show off.

Two floors down, one of my bugs slowed in flight, as though suddenly moving through water. The only thing was, this water was four feet off the ground, and moving.

Our way.

Fast.

I flitted more bugs toward the disturbance in the air and desperately tried to keep the dismay off my face. Not for the first time, I was very thankful for the mask I was wearing, no matter how ridiculous it might have made me look.

Shamus quirked her had as she looked at me.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I think I heard something," I said.

Very subtle. She'd certainly buy it.

"You sure? It seems pretty quiet to me."

On the floor below us, the patch of weirdness drew near the staircase at the opposite end of the hall.

"Yeah," I said. "We should hurry."

I sped up my pace as we turned toward the stairs. I was _not _going to be caught for breaking and entering as the start to my superhero career.

One of my bugs buzzed through our possible pursuer as they neared the top of the staircase.

"C'mon!" I whispered as I darted into the stairwell.

I tried to dart down the stairwell as quickly as possible. Sound was liable to carry far in these empty halls.

The mysterious presence paused briefly before continuing forward at alarming speed.

Shamus grabbed my arm as we burst through the doors at the bottom of the stairwell.

"What's going on?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "Did you see a ghost or something?"

"We're being followed," I said as I made a show of checking the hallways before continuing. "This way, hurry!" I took off toward the exit. All that running might be about to pay off.

Shamus broke into a stride just before I did, no doubt another of her uncanny hunches, but she still fell a few steps behind, probably thanks to the gangly legs which complemented my spindly figure so nicely. Since appearing to abandon my benevolent savior seemed ill-advised, I slowed a bit to keep pace.

"What gives?" she hissed as our shoes slapped on the tile.

Something small and sharp whizzed by my mask, like a hornet, but one whose presence I couldn't sense. I flinched and skidded to a halt.

Ten feet in front of me, a needle-tipped dart stuck quivering in a poster-covered corkboard a few feet off the floor.

"Don't move a fucking muscle," the girl behind us said.


	4. Transfer 1-4

I grimaced.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Shamus had already done an about-face and now faced the Ward behind me head-on.

"Shadow Stalker," said Shamus. "I have to admit, I'd never have guessed that you'd actually set foot in a school." I could hear the mocking grin in her tone.

Antagonizing a hero didn't seem like anything but a spectacularly bad idea, especially when that hero didn't have any evidence of us committing a crime.

Shadow Stalker's barking laugh contained not a single trace of humor.

"Funny, very funny. Hey, you, turn around." I did, and found myself staring down her crossbow from a few feet away.

I have to admit, I pictured my first run-in with another hero going a _bit _differently.

"Who's this, the help?" she asked. "Where'd you find a henchman willing to put up with your smart ass?"

I blessed Shamus's foresight in bringing along a mask. I couldn't exactly have busted out my costume, after all. I was determined to keep my identity a secret from even my own dad, to say nothing of the other heroes.

"She's the muscle," Shamus said. "New cape in town."

My breath caught in my throat.

"Used to run with a gang in New York," she continued. "Real serious shit. She's a real hardass."

I exhaled. _She didn't know_. Of course, that didn't help me with cashing the checks her mouth was writing.

My focus spread through the school and surrounding grounds as every bug I could reach crawled, wriggled, or flew in my direction. They'd be a last resort, of course, but I needed every option available, just in case.

Shamus's bluff may have held _slightly_ more truth than she realized, but my power wouldn't be of much use in us getting away. Though I doubted I even could do anything to Shadow Stalker, given the nature of her power, I really didn't want to hurt a hero. I could kiss any independent hero career goodbye if I revealed my power to the Protectorate this way.

"Pleasant seeing you as always," Shamus said, "but I think we'll be going now. Don't be a stranger."

Shadow Stalker laughed again, a short, sharp bark.

"You aren't going anywhere," she said.

I couldn't see Shamus's face from my place a few steps behind her, but I had the distinct impression she was rolling her eyes.

"So, you're gonna haul me in for, what, trespassing in a deserted public building after hours? Ooooh, how malicious. Doesn't the Protectorate have better things to do? You didn't seem the type to shy away from a few gang members."

Shadow Stalker's grip tightened on the crossbow.

"Cut the shit," she said. "This isn't official PRT business." She dangled her unhooked earbud before shoving it in a pouch.

Slowly, deliberately, she swung the crossbow toward me. Her other hand darted to her side and retrieved a second crossbow, which she leveled at Shamus.

Bright, sharp steel gleamed in the dim light of the darkened hallway.

Rumors about Shadow Stalker had been hard to avoid while researching Brockton Bay's capes, but they were much easier to believe while staring at a crossbow most definitely _not_ loaded with tranquilizers.

Shamus shook her head.

"I guess expecting anything but the Neanderthal approach was giving you too much credit," she said. "Can we go now, or do you need to do some more pointless dick-measuring first?"

My nails dug into my palms. I would have given quite a bit to be wearing my knife-proof costume.

A movement behind Shamus's back caught my attention. She held up five fingers, then four, then three.

The biggest fly within the entire building zipped up the stairwell.

Two.

The fly veered onto a collision course with Shadow Stalker's mask lens.

One.

Shamus pointed behind Shadow Stalker and yelled "Now!"

Shadow Stalker swore and spun around. Shamus whirled and ran, trenchcoat flying. I kept a step behind the girl with the plan. More cursing came from behind me as the fly bounced off Shadow Stalker's mask and veered back in several times. The fly flickered and disappeared from my perception.

Another crossbow bolt hissed by and stuck into the wall behind us as we made a sharp turn around the corner.

"I can't believe that worked!" Shamus said as we ran. "God, she's even dumber than I thought."

"Can we outrun her?" I asked between breaths as we sprinted down another hallway.

"No chance," Shamus said. "She can run through walls. Plus, she does track and I hardly exercise. Here!" She grabbed my arm, whirled to the side, and slammed the Tinkertech key into a door handle. The abrupt stop nearly sent me tumbling. Shamus threw the door open, tugged me inside, and slammed the door shut, locking it.

The soft hum of dozens of jet-black computer towers filled the room.

"The computer lab?" I said. "Why here?"

"Her weakness," Shamus said. "She can't ghost through live wires, I'm almost sure of it. Quick, get that tape on the desk! It'll take her a second to figure out which room we went into." She grabbed a power strip from underneath a nearby terminal and draped the cords over the doorknob.

I hurriedly scooped up the roll of silver-gray duct tape sitting atop Miss Knots' desk. Shamus gave me a quick thumbs-up. "Here, help me tape these over the door. And keep an eye on the wall, wouldja? There's probably a non-electrified point for her to walk through, but it takes her some time to phase through thicker obstacles."

Shamus had a remarkable breadth of knowledge about Shadow Stalker's vulnerabilities. My research on Brockton's capes had never turned up any of this information. Of course, the Protectorate wanting to keep a cape's weaknesses hidden wasn't surprising, but Shamus seemed to have a way of ferreting out secrets.

I fumbled with the tape for a moment before managing to tear off a few strips. A few moments later, we'd managed to drape a tangle of wires over the doorway.

Muffled cursing came from the hallway.

"Took her long enough," Shamus said. "That ought to do it, then."

"What about the walls?"

Shamus smirked. "She won't run through ones this thick. She can, but it's harder for her than you'd think. If she tries it, I can get her with my stun gun before she gets all the way through."

Shadow Stalker punctuated another burst of cursing by punching a hole in the door with a point-blank crossbow shot.

I flinched. Shamus nearly doubled over laughing.

"Oh, get lost," she yelled after straightening back up. "You lose. Go cripple a skinhead, it'll take the edge off."

Shamus skipped back hastily moments before more crossbow bolts tore through the door.

"Ignore her," she said to me. "She knows it's over. The bitch just can't let it go."

I couldn't quite find the words to reply. My mind was still working through my near-death experience. I tagged Shadow Stalker with a bug on her leg, and felt her move off. She dissipated into her shadow form and slipped my tracker as she disappeared off the roof. It seemed that Shamus had been right after all.

"For what it's worth," Shamus said after a moment, "I'm like seventy percent sure she wasn't actually going to kill me, much less you. She's nuts, but she's not _that_ nuts. Probably."

"Great, I feel much better," I muttered. Funnily enough, I felt _more_ comfortable speaking my mind around this complete stranger. Since she already knew what I was thinking anyway, there wasn't much reason to hold back.

Shamus grimaced.

"Sorry you got mixed up in all this," she said. "Really. Believe me, if I thought we might run into that psychopath, I never would've brought you along. Clients being diced on my watch doesn't do much for my reputation."

Oddly, I did believe her.

"Why does she hate you, anyway?"

Shamus cleared her throat, and waved a hand dismissively.

"Well, I may have called her a few nasty names after she put me through the alpha bitch act one too many times." She shrugged.

"Seriously, that's it?" I asked. "Kind of a massive overreaction on her part."

"Ah, well, 'a few nasty names' might actually be obfuscating the truth a bit," she said. "It was more like I rent her fragile little psyche and squashed her self-image like an overripe grape." Shamus scowled, a surprisingly intense expression on her usually flippant face. "She had it coming."

Having seen Shamus seemingly read my thoughts as though contained in a text bubble next to my head, the damage she might do with a full-blown psychological assault didn't bear thinking about.

"Don't worry," she said. "That treatment's reserved for people I really hate."

Like I said - scary.

A blur swept through the high, narrow exterior windows.

Shadow Stalker flew into the room feet-first and caught Shamus square in the chest. The detective crumpled to the floor. Her stun gun skidded across the floor, having barely cleared her pocket.

Shadow Stalker cut short Shamus's pained wheezes with a vicious blow to the girl's stomach. Her pained yell sent a sick feeling welling into my stomach.

The Ward leveled one of her hand crossbows in my direction.

"Make like a statue," she said. She returned her attention to Shamus.

"No smart mouth now, huh, bitch?" Shadow Stalker aimed a kick at Shamus's side. Shamus choked back another cry, and glared up at Shadow Stalker.

"Weak," she said, between gasped breaths.

"Shut _up!_" Shadow Stalker slashed a steel-tipped bolt along Shamus's leg. Red welled from within the jagged tear in her pant leg, but thankfully not at a pace which would suggest that the Ward had nicked something vital.

Shamus's blood trickled onto the dull floor tile.

I cursed my stupidity at getting another person wrapped up in my problems. Shamus had gone out of her way to help me, a pathetic, broke high schooler, and was writhing in agony in the floor as her reward.

I balled my fists. Shadow Stalker, nominally the "hero" in all of this, glanced over.

"Don't move, capiche?" She jabbed the crossbow at me for emphasis.

Shamus chose that moment to spring up, her face contorted in a mix of pained grimace and furious snarl, and hurl herself at Shadow Stalker. Shamus flew through the intangible form of the Ward, who had shifted into her shadow state seemingly on reflex as she spun back toward her assailant. I lunged for the stun gun. Caught off guard and distracted, Shadow Stalker reacted a second too late. The crossbow bolt whistled past my ear, close enough to feel the breeze of displaced air, as I dove at her leg. Shamus leapt on her back, then tumbled to the floor through the smoky haze with a thud. I thumbed the ignition stud.

Bright blue current coursed through the vaporous, humanoid cloud, which snapped back onto our material plane in the form of Shadow Stalker, then collapsed without a sound.

The stun gun clattered onto the floor. I scrambled backwards.

Shamus managed a pained chuckle as she forced herself to her feet.

"Is-is she okay?" I asked. I felt a bit stupid doing so, but her shadow form had reacted so spectacularly. I hadn't just seriously injured a hero, had I?

Shamus regarded the prone Ward carefully. She nodded.

"Yup. Electricity affects her more violently in her shadow state, but in that amount, still not badly enough to kill her."

I breathed a very deep sigh of relief.

"Hey," Shamus said. "Thanks. That was pretty ballsy. You just saved my ass."

I smiled weakly.

"Well, she probably would've gone after me next. I had nothing to lose, right?"

"Don't sell yourself short. Standing up to that psychopath isn't easy."

I looked at the temporarily harmless Ward, still reeling at the speed and ease with which she had resorted to lethal violence.

"I can't believe she's a hero," I said. "She's a thug."

"And she's not the only one," Shamus said. "There's a reason I didn't sign up for the Wards. I'd rather play the game on my own terms."

"The game?" This certainly hadn't seemed like a game to me.

Shamus knelt by Shadow Stalker, and examined her once more.

"Remind me to tell you about it sometime. Right now, we need to go. The heroes will find her soon, and trust me, protestations of self-defense are not gonna cut it."

Right. The PRT assuredly had some way of tracking her, and if caught, I could kiss any chance at a future career as a hero goodbye. I lost no time in following Shamus out of the building as quickly as she could limp on her injured leg.


	5. Transfer 1-5

Shamus winced as I swabbed the cut on her leg with antiseptic.

"No, don't apologize," she said before I could speak. "Thanks again for offering to patch me up. You're on a roll tonight."

I smiled. Truth be told, putting my first aid lessons into action had me more than a little nervous. Still, I figured that I could handle a pretty straightforward disinfect-and-bandage job. Following our retreat from the school, she'd offered to part ways, but I'd insisted on bringing her back to the house to clean out the wound. I'd had her lay out on the living room couch, with a considerable heaping of paper towels under her leg to prevent any spillage.

I carefully wound some gauze bandages from my first-aid kit around her leg. Shamus rolled her pant leg back down, swung her legs off the bed, and gingerly clambered to her feet, slowly putting more weight on her injured leg.

"Hey, that feels way better!" she said with a grin. "Nice work."

"It's the least I can do," I said. "Sorry for getting you attacked by that psycho."

Shamus waved off my apology.

"Not your fault," she said. "I would've run into her sooner or later. There's a good chance she was even looking for me."

Her graciousness notwithstanding, I still felt some serious guilt.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "She didn't even poke any holes in vital organs before you zapped her. I'm still impressed, by the way. Really gutsy move."

"I couldn't just watch," I said. That was all I really _could_ say. I wasn't entirely certain from whence the rush of determination which spurred me to action had come.

"Most people do," she said. "You didn't. So, thanks."

Shamus rubbed her leg above the wound, stretched, and checked her watch.

"Well, I should be going," she said. "Your dad will be home any minute, and I doubt you want to explain why there's a cape bleeding on your couch."

I nodded. I'd be on round-the-clock parental watch for weeks.

"Give me three, maybe four days to apply the appropriate leverage," Shamus said. "I'll be in touch. Sit tight, 'kay?"

Shamus was as good as her word, not that I ever doubted it. The following Friday afternoon, I was called to Blackwell's office and informed that, in light of the locker incident, the school had finally managed to obtain authorization for my transfer, and that, effective Monday, I was now a member of the student body at Arcadia High.

I left school with a smile for the first time in what felt like years. I would never have to look Emma in her sneering face again, or run from Sophia between classes. The assholes and tribulations Arcadia might have in store barely concerned me. I was free.

I left Winslow for what would hopefully be the very last time, mulling over how to break the news to my dad. As I headed toward the bus pickup zone, a snappily-dressed blonde girl pushed off from her slouch against the school wall and meandered over.

"Hiya, Taylor," she said, an enormous grin on her freckled face. "Long time, no see."

In fact, I couldn't remember _ever_ having seen this girl before. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, but she definitely hadn't ever been in one of my classes.

"Sorry, but do I know you?" I said.

"In a manner of speaking," she said. "Thought I'd come by to congratulate you on trading up. Arcadia is pretty swanky."

With a start, I noticed the twinkle in her bottle-glass green eyes. Her grin only widened.

"Wait, are you-"

"Yup, you got me," she said with a wink. "But call me Lisa when I'm off the clock. Gotta get out of that stuffy suit and hat sometimes, you know. Walk with me?" She gestured toward Downtown and set off at a brisk pace.

I followed. I wasn't exactly in a position to refuse, and I _was_ curious about what she was doing here, despite the nervous energy crackling through every synapse in my body.

We walked a block or so in silence before she spoke up.

"You're wondering why I'm here," she said. Her tone didn't pose a question so much as acknowledge the obvious.

"It's not how I expected to end my last day at Winslow," I said.

"You'll have to forgive my flair for the theatrical," she said. "I really can't resist showing off. Call it a character flaw." She smirked.

"Anyways," she continued, "I'm here for two reasons. To settle the score, and to make you an offer."

"What score?" I said. If anything, I'd be digging myself out of my debt to her for some time.

"Well, I've seen you out of costume, so it only seemed fair for you to see me out of mine."

My heart sank. A lead weight the size of a grapefruit plunked into my stomach as a faint buzzing pressed more and more heavily against the edges of my mind.

"Costume?" I said. "What?"

Hopeless or not, I had to try.

Shamus-no, Lisa-wagged a finger.

"Remember, you can't fool me," she said.

"How did you know?" I asked, deflated. I felt my shoulders slump.

"Honestly? I was suspicious from the start," she said. "What those girls did to you was classic trigger material. Still, it was just a hunch until the school. You were way too calm for somebody who should've been expecting a security guard around every corner, and you picked out Shadow Stalker from half a school away. Two plus two is four, et cetera."

Of _course_ Winslow would be responsible for yet another spanner thrown into the works of my life. I really should have known.

"Trigger?" I asked. "Do you mean the locker?"

"Got it in one," she said. "Like you must have guessed, the trauma brought out your powers. Pretty messed up, but that's the world we're living in."

Lisa spread her hands in a placating gesture.

"Anyways, don't worry, I'm not going to blackmail you or anything. I might be a pain in the ass, but a villain, I am not."

Words still refused to come to my lips.

Lisa scowled and slapped her forehead.

"Shit, I did the Holmes routine again," she muttered. "Sorry, my off switch is pretty rusty from neglect at this point."

We turned down a side street, in what I assumed was a maneuver on Lisa's part to avoid the crowds.

Lisa fiddled with her ponytail for a moment, seeming to choose her next words carefully.

"I want you to work with me," she said.

And here I'd thought I was surprised enough before.

"You want to be a hero, but you don't want to join the Wards," she said. "Team up with me instead. You know how brutal this city can be. Solo operating is way too dangerous. I'm a rogue, sure, but I'd like to think I'm a pretty dashing one." She grinned.

"So, help me out. You can make a real difference for the little guy, while the heroes and villains run through their great game of cops and robbers. We'll only take cases from people who need real help. You'll get the experience you'd need to run solo, and if you ever decide you want to set up as a hero you can walk, no questions asked."

Lisa spread her arms.

"So, what do you say? I'll even give you your own desk!"

"I don't know," I said. "I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but…"

"I'll tell you another secret," Lisa said, her voice uncharacteristically serious for once. "I hate doing this alone. The idea of the lone cape stalking the streets sounds glamorous, but it can really be miserable sometimes. Don't do that to yourself."

She smiled once more.

"And besides, every great detective needs a partner, right?"

To my surprise, I found myself smiling too.

She had a point about the perils of operating alone. Wouldn't a chance to learn from a cape with some experience be well worth it? Plus, I had no doubt that when she said I could leave at any time, she genuinely meant it. She'd gone out of her way to help me with no prospect of reward, hadn't she? The more I thought about it, the more working together with her made sense.

"Okay," I said finally. "I'll do it."

More than anything else, if I was being honest, I just wanted someone to talk to.

Lisa exhaled deeply and beamed at me.

"Thanks, Taylor. Now, there is one thing I need to ask you, first."

She took on a mock-serious pout.

"What powers do you have, anyways? It's been killing me. I know you have some kind of limited short-range clairvoyance, but how do you _do_ it? Precognition? Out-of-body projection? X-ray vision?"

I steered a few nearby butterflies into a brief swirling formation around her head. For her, I figured that would suffice by way of an explanation.

Lisa whistled.

"Bug powers? I'll admit, I didn't see that one coming. Nifty."

"Not the words I used," I said.

"Hey, reality-bending superpowers are reality-bending superpowers, right?"

"Says the girl who didn't get bug powers,"

"Mine's not all silver lining," she said. "Gives me a wicked migraine if I overdo it. Spend a few days laid up on a couch with the goddess of wisdom trying to claw her way out of your head, and the creepy-crawlies won't seem so bad."

"If you ever want to trade, I'm game," I said. "It is _really _hard to come up with a bug-themed name when you're _not _a villain."

"Point," she said. "How's about we brainstorm some names over lunch? I know a great burger joint just down the block, and my power ought to be able to sniff out any PR disasters waiting to happen."

I smiled.

"Sounds good to me," I said.


	6. Rescue 2-1

My entire school life might no longer revolve around anticipation of the final bell, but I still couldn't shake the profound feeling of relief which accompanied that last melodic electronic chime.

I slung my backpack onto my shoulders, and hurried out of the room. On some level, I still expected to look over my shoulder and be greeted with the sight of Emma's sneering gaze.

Rationally, I knew it was crazy, but months of concerted emotional torment had formed habits which stubbornly refused to relinquish their vice-like grip on my psyche.

I reflexively tugged at my new jeans as I made my way down the Arcadia stairs. Over the weekend, Lisa had taken me on a shopping spree in the guise of a "signing bonus", which had seemed more of an excuse for her to use me as a human-sized dress-up doll than anything else.

The tight-fitting clothes still made me feel uncomfortable, but I'd been forced to acknowledge the validity of Lisa's argument that I'd stand out far more in a raggedy hoodie and sweatpants. In the afternoon rush to clear the school grounds, I was only one of hundreds of girls wearing every kind of skinny jeans imaginable.

Having your last class of the day on the fourth floor was, unsurprisingly, a popular subject of complaint. Personally, I tried to view it as just another workout to go with my runs.

As I exited through the main entrance and made my way toward my bus, a light tap came on my shoulder. A quick pivot to my left revealed Lisa, customary grin and all.

"Hiya," she said. "Hope you don't mind me intruding, but it was either find you here or at your house, and I didn't need superpowers to know which of those was the better idea."

"It's OK," I said. "In fact, being seen talking to someone would probably do wonders for my rep here. I should probably be thanking you."

"On that note, how are the hallowed halls of Arcadia treating you?"

I shrugged.

"I sit in class, learn, and basically nobody cares that I exist," I said. "So, it's a pretty huge improvement."

"All thanks to my discerning eye for fashion, naturally," Lisa said with a smile. "Hey, I've got a client coming by later today. Real high-powered lawyer type. Come by my office around five, and bring that outfit you've been working on, 'kay? And remember, you're on an expense account now, so take a cab." She winked.

"Are you sure you want me there?" I said.

"The sooner you start, the better, and there's no time like the present! Don't forget your outfit. I'm dying to see it."

"It's not exactly finished," I said.

"Then perhaps I'll suggest some alterations," she said with a devious waggle of her eyebrows.

"Please, no fedoras."

"Aww, you're no fun! They're _classy_."

"Even you couldn't figure out a way to make a fedora look good with a bug-themed costume."

"Is that a bet?"

"If I had any money, it might be."

"We'll talk once I cut your first check," she said. "Anyways, I don't want to make you miss your bus. Remember, five o'clock, and dress to impress!"

Lisa spun and sauntered off with a wave. Had she been wearing her trenchcoat, the move would no doubt have billowed it with dramatic flair. I had the feeling she'd practiced. The dashing detective image seemed very important to her.

Shaking my head, I got on the bus. It was promising to be an interesting afternoon.

The time before our meeting passed uneventfully. I rapped on the door to Shamus's office at 4:45, just to be certain that I arrived before her mysterious client.

The door swung open to reveal a beaming Shamus in full detective regalia.

"I knew you'd be early!" she said. "Quick, come in and change. They'll be here any minute."

Shamus's remark about getting my own desk had clearly not been idle banter, for she had somehow managed to cram another well-worn wooden desk into the organized chaos of her office. A shiny, yet conspicuously empty nameplate adorned the desk's top.

"Like it?" Shamus said. "No pressure, but it'll look way more official once we slip a name in there."

Right. We couldn't exactly put in "Taylor Hebert", after all.

"I'm not sure I warrant something so elaborate," I said. "But, I like it."

"Knew you would. And the chair's like sitting on a cloud, trust me. First, though, you need to change!"

She turned her back and whistled idly as I hastily retrieved my costume from my backpack and tugged it on.

Shamus turned back around just as I finished changing. She whistled.

"You made that whole thing out of spider silk? That's pretty kickass."

She eyed the fabric of my costume thoughtfully.

"Bet you'd make an awesome suit. See, bug powers have some stylish applications after all. Usually, only tinkers and those poor souls totally deprived of a fashion sense can say that they made their own costumes."

"I suppose that there are some perks," I admitted. "Tailoring a nice suit might be more of a challenge, though."

A not-so-mysterious force sent the flies I'd positioned on the outer door swinging through the air.

"They're here," I said to Shamus.

"A walking motion sensor," she marveled. "My investigations will never be the same."

She flopped into her desk chair and snatched a book seemingly at random from a nearby pile.

Figuring that appearing to be at least semi-professional would be a good idea, I followed her lead and settled into my new office chair. I clasped my hands on the desk and tried to tamp down my growing embarrassment just as our guest opened the inner door.

A blonde woman clad in an immaculate and neatly tailored suit strode through the doorway.

_Carol Dallon _strode through the doorway.

I thanked God I was wearing a mask, because the scarlet on my cheeks would have put a sunburned tomato to shame. My instinctual backwards leap of surprise nearly spilled me backwards over my chair.

"Glad you could drop by," Shamus said. "Seat?"

She gestured to the same dented folding chair which I'd occupied just over a week ago.

One of the foremost heroes in Brockton Bay checked her watch, then sat.

I'd had no idea that somebody could radiate so much poise and power while seated in a beat-up metal folding chair that had seen better days, and probably even better years.

"I'll keep this brief," Brandish said. She might not have been in costume, but I couldn't think of her as anyone else.

"You're Shamus, obviously, but I'm not familiar with your associate."

She tilted her head in my direction. I could feel myself wilting where I sat.

"She's new," Shamus said with easy confidence. "And she's good, or she wouldn't be working with me. What can we do for you?"

Brandish considered me for a moment. I barely managed to hold what I hoped to be a confident posture.

Brandish nodded and turned back to Shamus. I exhaled in relief. Shamus had placed a lot of trust in me, and something within me desperately wanted to live up to the capable parahuman she clearly thought me to be.

"I'm in need of your services," Brandish said. "A client of mine has turned himself in for a crime I know he didn't commit, and has refused to let me see him. I haven't been able to reach his family either."

Shamus reclined further in her chair.

"So, you'd like us to find out who got to him, and where his family is?"

She nodded.

"Precisely. For obvious reasons, New Wave isn't well suited to discreet investigation. Find where my client's family is being kept, and we'll handle the rest."

Brandish placed a folder on Shamus's desk.

"Here's all the relevant information. I'm told that you've never failed to crack a case. I expect nothing less this time."

Shamus shrugged in mock humility.

"I suppose I know what I'm doing. Running down a few missing persons should be no problem at all."

"Good. You'll be fairly compensated, of course."

Shamus grinned. "Gotta pay the bills somehow, right? We'll get them back. Don't sweat it."

Brandish nodded.

"We'll be in touch."

She rose, and looked at me.

"I don't like unknown quantities," she said.

I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Still," she said, "I'm willing to take a chance this time, based on your partner's reputation. Bring my client's family home."

I nodded. I didn't trust myself to force out anything other than a nervous squeak if I spoke.

Brandish took one last long look at Shamus, then strode out as the latter offered a jaunty wave. The door clacked shut behind the woman as she strode out.

"Neat, huh?" Shamus said.


	7. Rescue 2-2

I rounded on Lisa, tugging off my mask.

"Neat?" I said. "_Neat_? That was Carol Dallon!"

"Right? We're rubbing elbows with the high and mighty, and it's only your first day on the job. Pretty cool!"

Words came sputtering to my lips, now.

"Cool? I met Brandish in this dingy, half-finished outfit-I must've looked like I was twelve!"

It was difficult to tell whether I was having a nervous breakdown, or a rage-induced one.

Lisa set her mask and hat on the table in a single deft motion.

"First off, your costume kicks ass. Second, this whole case is your extended first impression, which will be a fantastic one when we rescue this guy's family from the Empire."

That damn vulpine grin spread across her face.

I was becoming all too familiar with that grin.

"And besides, I _did _tell you we were going to meet a 'high-powered lawyer type'."

I scowled.

"Oh!" she said, her eyes widening far too much for genuine surprise. "You mean you didn't put that one together?" She smirked. "Gosh, I'm just so clever that I forget sometimes how the other half has to live. My burden to bear."

For their own inscrutable reasons, a small squadron of wasps nestled in the exterior wall chose that moment to dart out and drop into a circular holding pattern around Lisa's head.

Lisa flinched and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her desk.

She recovered her balance, then threw her head back and laughed.

"Okay, you win this one," she said. "God, I hate wasps."

I didn't intend to let her off that easily.

"Would you like to know how many are living in this building?"

She shuddered.

"Consider your point made," she said. She eyed the wasps warily as I flitted them away. "Man, you're terrifying."

I allowed myself a bit of a smile.

Lisa considered me thoughtfully for a moment.

"You're really aware of them all at once, huh?" she asked. "Your multitasking ability must be something else. Secondary power component?"

I shrugged helplessly.

"I wish I knew. I got pretty much everything I know about powers from the wiki."

"Eh, it doesn't really matter right now, anyways," she said. "I'm letting my curiosity get the better of me. We'll talk about it more sometime. For now, we have a case."

Something she'd said earlier floated back to my attention.

"You think it was the Empire?" I asked. "We haven't even looked at the file yet."

She laughed.

"Look at the file? C'mon, what am I? Any client of Brandish's won't be involved with the Merchants, and politicking via hostage taking isn't Lung's style. Ergo, the Empire."

She flipped open the folder, and slapped it on the table triumphantly.

A photo of a middle-aged African-American male lay atop a small sheaf of photos and printed documents.

"See? Empire!" she crowed.

"Let's say it is," I said. "What's their angle?"

Lisa began to leaf through the documents.

"Wasn't organized as a jab at New Wave - that's just a side benefit. It's a message, that people on their turf should fall in line or suffer the consequences. Not a subtle one, either." She snorted. "Guess I shouldn't have expected subtlety from a white supremacist who called himself 'Kaiser'."

"Wouldn't they be worried about the repercussions from the heroes for this? It seems pretty brazen."

"The Empire can field more capes than either of the hero groups, and the heroes don't have anyone powerful enough to pick up the slack. It all plays into the same message, which is that the Empire are the people really running this town."

"I hadn't realized things were that bad."

"Well, honey, the Protectorate's PR team is a lot better at their jobs than the capes," she said. "Which is where we come in."

I nodded. My research had made perfectly evident the numerical disparities between good guys and bad guys in Brockton's cape population, but hearing it so starkly laid bare by a fellow cape struck me in a way that research done at a remove never could.

"Where do we start?" I asked.

Lisa thumbed through a few more of the pages in the file.

"They'll be somewhere near the Docks," she said. "We'll sweep through the area later, see if we can pick up any info. Your power should help make sure that we don't get jumped by the skinheads. Technically, as a rogue I'm unaligned, but might as well avoid any awkward situations, right?"

"I'll defer to the master detective on this one," I said.

"You catch on quick!" she said with a smile. Her attention quickly drifted back to the files.

"Middle-aged, wife, two kids," she said. "He grew up in the neighborhood, still lives there, even after the skinheads muscled in. Pops gave organized crime the finger back in the day, so he felt compelled to do the same. Hasn't worked out quite so well for him, obviously," she said. She shook her head, then continued. "Started working with Brandish because he thought New Wave'd afford his family some protection, which only made him a more attractive target." She snorted. "Even Shadow Stalker could've done the mental gymnastics to figure that one out."

"That's a pretty detailed file," I said.

"This thing's pretty much just photos and addresses," she said. She tapped her forehead. "Fortunately, my power has a way of filling in the details."

"Even with information that bare-bones?" This wasn't exactly helping her argument that she wasn't a psychic.

"Pretty much, yeah. Admittedly, this isn't exactly my finest work. Fitting together the pieces is a lot easier when I'm getting my info first-hand."

"Which," she continued, "means that tonight calls for some legwork under cover of darkness. Call your dad and tell him we're doing a movie night, 'kay?"

"I'll need to use your phone," I said.

Lisa nodded.

"That reminds me, I've got a surprise for you," she said.

She tugged open a desk drawer, shifted aside a few papers, and retrieved a bulky gray flip phone, the kind you might buy at a convenience store. After removing the back casing to check the battery and SIM card, she handed the phone to me. I took the phone gingerly. Though an essential accoutrement for the modern American teenager, cellphones still felt almost foreign to me, like I'd just been handed a piece of Tinkertech.

"Can't let you hit the streets without a way to stay in touch," she said. "You can leave it here when you're not working, if you want."

Clearly, she'd managed to suss out, more or less, why I remained one of the few unenlightened in this era of modern interconnectivity.

"Thanks," I said. In a way, not having to explain myself around Lisa was a relief.

"I'm not gonna have to explain texting to you, right?"

I arched an eyebrow.

"I'm a social reject, not a cavewoman."

"Just messing with you," she said with an easy grin. "I know you're not _that_ hopeless."

"Gee, I'm glad I don't appear too completely pathetic."

"Oh, you'll be just another faceless youth undermining the social interconnectivity of our society in no time," she said. "Just don't give the number out, 'kay? I can't stand it when my friends text other people," she said with a chuckle.

"All the friends I have are going to be crushed," I said. "You're really asking a lot here."

She snorted.

"High school," she said. "Who needs it, anyways?"


	8. Rescue 2-3

We passed several more hours in the office. I called Dad and told him a story about how I'd be studying at Lisa's place. The knowledge that it hadn't been a total fabrication eased my conscience just a bit. Still, lying to him never felt great, and I hated that I'd made a habit of it.

Once twilight had fully given way to the darkness of a cool late spring night, Shamus and I slipped out of her office via a door to a back alley and made our way to the streets.

Shamus led the way, keeping to the back streets. I suspected that decision to be more for my benefit than hers. Nighttime hadn't settled in to the point where the sidewalks would be largely deserted, and as a brand-new addition to the Brockton Bay cape population, forging a path through the crowds of Downtown might have attracted a great deal of unwanted attention.

As Shamus had outlined it back in her office, we'd be sweeping through a few sections of Downtown which lay firmly in the grip of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Her power seemed to need a certain degree of fieldwork as fuel for its fire. It was a little reassuring that her ability to dissect a situation did, in fact, have limits, although it was entirely too late for me. By now, she probably knew more about my problems than I did.

Bugs flew in every direction in a whirling patrol pattern as I spread out the kinds of gnats and tiny flies you only notice after they've bitten. We hadn't yet crossed into what Shamus had identified as Empire territory, but I didn't see the point in taking any chances.

"Are you sure we should be doing this in costume?" I asked. "We're going to stand out."

"The Empire may be a bunch of neo-Nazis, but that doesn't mean they're stupid, except for the whole 'blind devotion to a vile, fossilized, and bankrupt ideology' thing," she said. "Point is, we don't want to run the risk of some hormonal thug noticing the perky blonde with the winning smile and her tall friend with the great hair, and putting two and two together if he sees us in costume later."

"It does make sense," I admitted reluctantly. "But flattery will get you nowhere."

"Flattery gets me everywhere," she said, her smile a crescent gleam in the dark of the back alleys. "But really, I'd kill for that hair. Mine's _so_ boring."

She twirled a strand around her finger, then sighed as it fell away.

"See? Not a single curl."

"Aren't we being a bit unprofessional? We are on the clock."

"Don't think I don't see you trying to change the topic," she said. "I'm professionally unprofessional. It's how I do my best work. You can't put genius in a box, you know."

"But, apparently, you _can_ put it in a fedora."

"Touche." She grinned.

We made our way through alleys and narrow side streets for a few more blocks, carefully darting across streets once my bugs had confirmed the vacancy of our immediate vicinity. After crossing a street notable only for its particularly well-kept McDonalds, Shamus pulled me into the shadow of a back-alley dumpster.

"We're crossing into big-time Empire territory now," she said, her voice low. "Keep those bugs out, and if you sense anything that skeeves you out, even just a little, don't keep it to yourself. We can handle some thugs, but I'd rather not run into Hookwolf down some dark alley."

I shuddered briefly at the thought.

"If we do get caught, what does that mean for you?" I asked. "Would you still be a rogue?"

She shrugged.

"It's a pretty nebulous definition," she said. "I'm not going to be high on anyone's priority list even if they do come after me, and I have enough information banked up for deterrent to hit back at anyone who comes for me. As long as I make it clear that I'm still just taking jobs, there shouldn't be much of a change in the status quo."

Her explanation notwithstanding, I still didn't quite see why she would go out on a limb for me. She must not have had her power switched on, because she let my doubts go without comment.

"How's it looking?" she said.

My minuscule flying legions had picked out what appeared to be a few skinheads lurking on a nearby corner, but our path was taking us in the opposite direction. No more than a few pedestrians hurried down the block's sidewalks. Thankfully, the Empire's proclivity for shaved heads made for easy identification by insect flyby. I'd end up profiling more than one bald older man as a result, of course, but I imagined that they'd forgive me.

We continued on through the shadowy urban sprawl of Downtown. Shamus made frequent pauses to consider a particular building, or consult a folding map of the city, such as one might find at a tourist bureau, before shaking her head and stuffing the map back in her jacket pocket.

"No luck?" I said, after the latest such pause.

"I haven't seen the place yet," she said. "We're getting pretty close to a few spots I've ID'd as likely Empire dens, but things'll get a little hairier once we're there. No hits with our little flying friends?"

"Nothing that felt like a hostage situation in my range," I said. "Like I said, though, I'm pretty much going off positional inference from my bugs. It's a vague picture, to say the least. They don't give me much to work with."

"We might be able to work on that," she said. "Anyways, next block's the one we want, I'm almost sure of it."

We paused in an alley at the eastern end of the block.

"I _am_ sensing a bunch of skinheads in that direction," I said. "Can't see the building yet, though."

"That's gotta be the one," she said. "C'mon, let's take a look."

Shamus poked her head around the stained concrete wall at the mouth of the alleyway, taking care to conceal herself behind the corner. I followed suit a moment later. The nearest streetlight had been either smashed or shot out, leaving us comfortably draped in darkness, which suited me well enough.

Based on the information provided by my bugs, the Empire goons had concentrated in a squat, four-story apartment building with a crumbling brick facade. A scant few windows glowed yellow against the darkness of the night.

"That one," I whispered, pointing the building out to Shamus. "There's a bunch of skinheads on the first floor."

Shamus peered at where I'd pointed.

"Definitely fits the profile," she said. "C'mon, time for a little stakeout."

A quick twist of Shamus's tinkertech key admitted us to a fire exit to the rear of the building besides which we'd been lurking. Shamus confidently strode to an office near the exit, scanned the interior for a few moments, then deftly punched a code into a wall-mounted alarm system.

"Information security these days," she sighed. "No standards at all. Going up?" She gestured to a staircase on the far side of the darkened office.

I couldn't quite tell what manner of office it was, as we made our way across the shadowy floor. Old-fashioned decor, heaping stacks of official-looking documents, and a paucity of modern computing equipment suggested perhaps a law firm with more traditional sensibilities, but as my knowledge of law firms came almost exclusively from various TV shows, I wasn't the best judge.

Shamus whistled a few bars of a song I couldn't quite place as we ascended several flights of stairs. She gingerly eased open the heavy steel door to the roof, closing it quietly behind us as we stepped out onto the predictably drab concrete of the roof.

I dropped into a crouch as Shamus motioned for us to stay low. We crept behind a whirring fan which must have been part of the building's central air system. The Empire-infested building stood across the gap of the street in front of us, rising several stories higher into the air.

"Perfect," Shamus said. "Between the noise of the fan and the glare of those streetlights off their polished scalps, we're basically undetectable."

"No skyscrapers to backlight us either," I said. The towering glass and steel constructs of the heart of Downtown lay to the south, and the Docks and the Boardwalk to the north boasted no structures of similar scale.

"Look at you!" she said, straightening up with a smile. "You're a natural."

"I read the occasional detective novel," I said.

"Humble, too!" she said. "Keep it up, partner."

"What are we looking for, exactly?"

"Two things," she said. "First, I want to take a few minutes to really scope out the building. Second, I want to give you a chance to work the building over really thoroughly, see if I can't get something out of that. We need to figure out if they're really being held here before we call in the cavalry."

"But they probably are, right?"

"You bet your spider-silk-covered ass," Shamus said. "I'm gonna enjoy watching New Wave come down on this place like a sledgehammer. Who wouldn't love to watch some moronic neo-Nazis get theirs?"

"I couldn't agree more," I said.

"C'mon, follow me," Shamus said. We snuck over to the edge of the roof, staying crouched behind the low, gray wall which surrounded the roof. Shamus peered over the edge. I sunk into a sitting position with my back to the wall, and my head resting against the stone. Shamus may have needed a clear line of sight, but walls didn't pose any impediment to my bug control, and I didn't want to risk the gangster possibly seeing the lenses in my mask.

I reached out with my senses, flitting bugs through every floor of the gang den, and swept our building as well for good measure.

"If those little minions of yours find anything unusual, don't keep it to yourself," she said. "They'll have at least one cape on guard, too, so try and pick them out if you can, 'kay?"

"That'll be difficult," I said. "I don't think I'm familiar enough with the Empire capes to figure out who might be there."

Shamus scrunched her face in thought.

"Hmmmm. It'll probably be Rune, so if you see a teenage girl with long-ish hair wearing some kind of robes chatting with a skinhead over dinner, that'll pretty much fill in the picture. Oh, and the guy had a wife with one of those short mom haircuts, and two little kids."

"That does help," I said. "I'll try to find them."

I focused my attention on my bugs. The upper stories of the building did seem to contain a few legitimate dwellers, though they were probably Empire Eighty-Eight sympathizers at best, or at worst, family of members.

"I _am_ sensing a short girl on the first floor," I said to Shamus. "Couple of other skinheads in the same room. Feels like she has shoulder-length hair, maybe?"

"That's our girl," Shamus said. "Man, I'm good. Any sign of the family?"

"Not yet," I said. "Figuring out whether people are being held hostage will be a lot more difficult than just figuring out whether people are there."

"I've got faith," Shamus said. "Try looking for a basement, or a closet on the first floor. That's probably where they'll have them."

"I'll take a look," I said. Every minuscule bug I could lay my hands on crawled, crept, or flew over the first floor of the apartment, scouring each nook and cranny for anything I could find. Shamus continued her surveillance, whistling a few more songs that I didn't recognize.

After a few minutes, I'd fanned out my bugs enough to glean a more concrete picture of the situation.

"People are concentrated on the first floor," I said. "Especially in an apartment on the far side of the building from us. I'm getting what seems like three people sitting on chairs, possibly tied to them. There's some skinheads in the room, maybe watching them."

"Sounds like that could be our missing family," Shamus said. "You're really making me look good on this one. Brandish is gonna owe us big time."

"Is that what you really get out of it?" I said. "Favors? I know you don't need the money."

"That's part of it," Shamus said. "Even villains usually have a safety net, but when you're in the rogue business, you need to cover your ass as much as you can. Scoring brownie points with the heroes never hurts."

"I can see how," I said. "Speaking of the heroes, are you going to call Brandish now that we've found them?"

The prospect of even mere physical proximity to a conversation with Brandish still struck me as absolutely surreal. I was Taylor Hebert, social outcast, bully punching bag, teenage girl, and party to conversations with superheroes.

"Let's scout out this place a bit more first," Shamus said. "I want to be absolutely sure before I call in the cavalry. Gotta keep my reputation for thoroughly competent success intact, or I'll be out of a job." She snickered.

I nodded, and turned my attention back to my bugs. "I'll see if I can find out anything else."

"Check for their backup, if you can," Shamus said. "These Hitler fetishists are probably running a patrol out there somewhere."

"I'll do my best to find them," I said. "But I can't make any promises. This is all still pretty new to me."

"Sure," Shamus said. "No worries. Just do what you can. They're probably not staking this building out."

"Hey, you!" someone shouted from behind us to our left. "What are you doing up there?"

We froze.

"Put your hands in the air, and turn around," the voice growled. "_Slowly". _

We did.

"I had to say it," Shamus sighed.


	9. Rescue 2-4

I berated myself for my failure to catch the Empire Eighty-Eight thug who now had his pistol trained on Shamus. I'd been so occupied with checking for moving, street-level targets that I'd completely neglected to sweep the nearby rooftops for prone watchers already in place. A complete and utter rookie mistake, and the kind that could get you killed.

"Don't move!" called the thug from his position atop a small apartment complex the next building over. He pulled a cellphone from his pocket and began talking, his gun never wavering from its bead on Shamus.

Shamus raised her hands in the air. I followed her example.

"Sorry," she whispered to me. "Figured that they'd have a sentry somewhere, but I didn't think he'd pick us out that easily."

"It's my fault," I said. "I should've found him. Stupid mistake."

Keeping her hands in the air, she wagged a finger. "Nuh-uh. Let's split the blame fifty-fifty, and call that that. They'll bring us inside the apartment where the hostages are now, which is right where we want to be. Get together as many bugs as you can, and keep them out of sight. I can probably talk our way out of this, but if not, you'll have to swarm them."

"And go for the eyes and crotch," she added as an afterthought. "I can guarantee you that these big, strong thugs will scream like sissies once there's a few centipedes running over their dicks." She smirked.

"What about their cape?" I asked. "Rune? What can I do to stop her?"

"Honey, she's a teenage girl. Crawl a spider up inside her nose and she won't be capable of conscious thought, let alone throwing chairs with her mind."

I wished I could share Shamus's confidence in our allegedly inevitable victory. Even with a gun trained on her, she was cool as could be.

"Hey, don't worry," she said. "This isn't the first time I've been held at gunpoint by gangsters. It's not as bad as it looks."

I smiled, remembered I was wearing a full-face mask, and nodded.

"They're coming up the stairs now," I said.

"Just follow my lead," Shamus said. "These guys' brains are so small that you could probably control them. We'll be out of here in thirty minutes, tops. I guarantee."

The rooftop door flew open.

Shamus winked.

The E88 goons muscled us down the stairs and into the apartment complex with little regard for a comfortable walking speed. I reached out to my bugs to distract myself from the vice-like grip on my arm. The presumed captives remained clustered together somewhere inside the apartment. I counted a total of four goons, three of which were with us, and the long-haired girl whom Shamus had identified as Rune.

We stopped outside the door to apartment 103, which swung open inwards. The muscle stripped Shamus of her trenchcoat and fedora, and tossed them unceremoniously into the apartment. They subjected her to a pat-down as handsy as it was brief. Shamus only smirked.

"Like 'em young, huh?" she said.

"Shut it, bitch," growled the goon.

Her stun gun, Tinkertech key, and wallet were found and tossed inside as well. As they hauled us through the doorway, I felt lucky that I hadn't yet added utility pouches to my costume, or I might have been subjected to the same treatment. As it was, they only unclipped my pepper spray.

The girl I'd been monitoring came into view as I stumbled into the apartment. Long, blonde hair, not that I'd expected anything else, spilled down over the shoulders of Rune's red-and-black robe. She sized us up, then snorted, and pointed to the adjoining room. Several knives spun lazily in the air behind her, already under the influence of what PHO's sparse article called "touch-initiated telekinesis". The way the finely honed metal gleamed in the florescent light of the kitchen lent some vividness to PHO's clinical description.

Rune's minions thrust us into back-to-back plastic folding chairs in the middle of the apartment's living room. A well-worn couch and matching love seat had been thrust to the side to clear space.

The blinds snapped shut of their own accord. Rune had clearly enjoyed ample time to thoroughly acquaint herself with the apartment's various furnishings. I decided to treat everything as a potential missile until proved otherwise.

The family we'd come to rescue was somewhere on the other side of the living room wall. The door to the adjoining bedroom had been shut, blocking my view, but based on the position of my bugs, I guessed that the family had been shoved unceremoniously into an average-sized closet.

Ropes uncoiled from a pile in the corner, and slithered across the carpeted floor with the sinuous writhe of a rattlesnake. They wrapped around our arms and legs. The thugs backed off a few feet as Rune strolled into the room. She smirked, but said nothing.

"I'll be the one to break the awkward silence," Shamus said. "Is she seriously in charge here?"

One of the Empire Eighty-Eight gorillas started forward. Rune flicked a hulking encyclopedia from a corner shelf into his chest, stopping him in his place.

"Got a problem with that?" she said to Shamus. "Pretty funny, coming from you. What are you, sixteen?"

"Hey, I'm just playing at being a detective," Shamus said. "I don't have delusions of being a gang kingpin right out of training bras."

A slight breeze wafted over my face as another book, this time a hard-backed novel, flew by my face and nailed Shamus in the side of the head. She yelped, then chuckled.

"I take it all back, you're a real badass," she said. "I'm sure these guys have no problems taking orders from your jailbait ass."

Rune laughed harshly.

"You talk a lot of bullshit for someone tied to a chair," she said. "Keep it up, and maybe I'll start playing with knives instead of books."

I hoped that Shamus knew what she was doing. She usually did, to be fair, but this seemed like a textbook example of a situation about to escalate way out of control. More and more bugs joined the seething swarms gathering just out of eyesight.

"Can't fool me," Shamus said. Even with my back to her, I could vividly picture her smirk. "Dyeing your hair reeks a little of desperation, don't you think? And straightening it, too? Black hair was good enough for Hitler, you know."

Rune stalked closer to Shamus. The Empire cape had moved close to the edge of my peripheral vision. I'd snuck enough bugs onto her and her henchmen to accurately track their location no matter where they went in the room, of course, but gauging what she might do became much more difficult without being able to see her face.

She gestured, and the ropes tightened. Even through my spider silk costume, the pressure felt like a vise. Behind me, Shamus hissed in pain. Her bonds would have been chafing on bare skin.

"You still don't get it, do you?" she said. "You can't just toss a few chairs around with your mind and lead a gang. _Especially _a cape gang. Haven't you learned anything from Kaiser? Sure, there's fear, but you need more than that. You need respect. You need charisma, force of personality. You'll never have that. These guys, they're only following you because he gave the order. They hate babysitting some brat with delusions of grandeur."

"Seriously, boss, you want I should shut her up?" said one of the goons. Light from a nearby lamp glinted off the cold metal sheen of the handgun jammed in his waistband. My swarms tensed to spring.

Rune whirled on him. The couch jerked forward, knocking his legs from under him. He fell backwards onto its cushions.

"If I want your help, I'll ask for it, imbecile," she snapped, her words tinged with ice. "Now shut up."

"As for you two," she said, "consider yourselves lucky you're white. We're not savages like Lung or Skidmark and their animals, so I'll let you off with the hope of walking again in a year or two."

"Sorry, honey, but you're only proving my point," Shamus said. "You'll be some third-string filler to round out the team until you finally screw up enough to get tossed in the Birdcage. Capes whose names have real weight don't define themselves around their daddy issues and a playground beatdown in juvie."

"You're really going to regret that, bitch," Rune said. Shamus yelped as the ropes tightened further. I wriggled to no avail. Rune's telekinetic grip couldn't be broken.

"You keep talking, but your friend here hasn't said anything at all," Rune said with a sweetness that dripped with menace. "What's the matter, shy? Who are you, anyways? We've heard about your friend, the great detective, but you're new."

"Oh, she's bad news," Shamus said. "You don't want to see what she can do. Pissing yourself in front of the help won't do wonders for the small shred of reputation you still have." Although Shamus sat tied directly behind me, I could picture the lethal sneer on her face. "Have you stuttered in front of them y-mmph!" Shamus's barrage of taunts cut off abruptly. A quick flit of a gnat revealed that Rune had stuffed some kind of gag into her mouth. Shamus made a few muffled attempts at talking, then settled for as dignified a silence as any sock-induced one could be.

My bugs were now officially our only chance of getting out of here.

"I'm new," I said.

"Oh, she can talk!" Rune said with a wicked smile. "You must be so new that you don't know just how bad of an idea it is to cross the Empire. Don't worry, I'm about to give you a comprehensive lesson. You know what I can do, right?"

"Standard telekinesis with a weight limit, but limited to what you can touch," I said. I hoped needling her a little more would help whatever plan Shamus had been working on.

Several very long, very sharp knives floated out of the kitchen. They slipped into an orbit around my and Shamus's heads.

I was _very_ glad for the coverage afforded by my full-face mask and opaque lenses. Projecting an air of cool confidence became much easier when the other girl couldn't see your face.

"I'll show you a standard demonstration, then," Rune cooed. She laid extra emphasis on the word "standard". Maybe I'd hit a nerve after all. Spending some time around Shamus must have sharpened my woefully lacking verbal arsenal.

The knives spun closer.

"Now, the tough question," she said. "Do I start with her or you?"

Shamus mmph'd through the rag behind me. I said nothing, and marshaled my bugs. One of Rune's goons shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring at the knives. He must have been a new recruit who hadn't yet acclimated to the physics-defying stunts made commonplace by superpowers. I remembered being awed by the sheer impossibility of parahumans as a child myself. Actually getting superpowers had stripped away some of the mystery for me, of course.

"You know what?" Rune said. "Why not both?"

One of the knives broke from its orbit, and drifted toward my leg. No doubt a second knife had done the same on Shamus's side.

"Don't worry, I won't rush," Rune hissed.

A swarm of the biggest, fattest flies and beetles I'd been able to find rose up, split, and hammered against the glass of every outer window in the apartment like a muffled hailstorm. Rune and her thugs jumped. Several of them uttered some particularly colorful swears. Muffled laughter came from behind me.

Now that their attention was temporarily fixed on the windows, I made my move. Thousands of bugs boiled out of every crack, cranny, slot, and nook in the apartment, swarming, skittering and buzzing over Rune and her followers.

Several dozen wasps and hornets which I'd identified as the fastest darted out and flew directly into the eyes of Rune and her thugs. The shouts and yells began. Rune's horrified scream could probably have been heard clear across to the Protectorate's floating headquarters in the bay. I couldn't stop myself from wincing.

The muffled laughter behind me grew louder.

My hand-picked squadron distracted the Empire members just long enough for the rest of my swarm to begin racing up their bodies in a seething mass. Insects squirmed into any opening that afforded a path to bare skin, then set their pincers, mandibles, proboscises, and stingers into naked, vulnerable flesh. While I made sure to avoid the use of any venom, I didn't hold back on painful bites or stings, especially since Shamus had told me that the Empire had at least one healer on the payroll.

Rune dropped first. After only a few seconds, her screams had already merged together into one long, raw-throated wail of terror. I'd made sure to scuttle a few particularly large spiders up her nostrils. Her goons proved to be made of slightly sterner stuff, but they too fell to the floor after a few moments more, desperately thrashing and clawing at the writhing black swarm which flowed over them with unrelenting energy.

As Rune shrieked to what must have been the point of near unconsciousness, our bonds slackened, then fell away. I felt the gag fall out of Shamus's mouth.

She spat. "Yech. That was rank."

We both stood. I winced as the thugs' screams began to crack with desperation as well.

Shamus stepped closer to Rune, and looked her over. Rune lay still, gone suddenly quiet. My bugs continued their assault, in case her sudden faint proved to be a trick.

"Screamed herself unconscious," Shamus said. "You see something new every day." She turned back to me, a confident grin on her face once more. Behind her mask, her bottle-glass green eyes sparkled with a fierce, almost exultant kind of joy.

"Let's clean these jerkoffs up and call in the cavalry," she said. She retrieved her coat, hat, stun gun, and other personal effects from the box where they'd been unceremoniously dumped near the door. She tossed me the stun gun. "Zap those guys while I make this call?"

"It'd be my pleasure."

She smirked. "Knew I could count on you. You're a terror with that thing."

As Shamus punched numbers into one of the phones, a dingy black pre-paid type that you'd find at a corner store, I dutifully prodded each of the Empire goons into unconsciousness. I stunned Rune for good measure, too. Without knowing how conscious or focused she had to be, giving her even the potential of a chance to send one of those kitchen knives flying into our throats would be a mistake.

With our would-be assailants now stunned, I halted my bugs' onslaught. The swarms remained poised on my targets as insurance against a sudden reawakening.

Shamus popped up behind me.

"New Wave's on their way," she said. "Going to meet us on the roof. Let's get that family and get out of here. The neighbors know better than to report the odd scream, but Piggot and Kaiser know there's a raid going on here by now.

We found the family trussed up on chairs in the bedroom's walk-in closet. Muffled shrieks greeted us as Shamus pulled open the door. The vaguely menacing look of my costume aside, this could probably be attributed to the kitchen knives held in our hands. In retrospect, we probably should have gotten those after opening the door.

Shamus held up her hands in a reassuring gesture. "Hey, don't worry, we're the good guys," Shamus said. She began slicing through the duct tape that bound the arms and legs of one of the kids to their chair. I freed the mother, having agreed with Shamus that the kids might react less than gratefully to a close run-in with the bug girl, no matter that I was here to rescue them. It was no wonder that my particular brand of superpowers hadn't helped me win friends.

"I'm going to take the gag out now," I said. "Please keep quiet. We don't want to attract any more attention."

"And definitely not this deep in Empire territory," Shamus said. She finished severing the children's last bonds. Their mother squeezed past me for a huddled embrace amidst the mothballed jackets and decade-old shoes.

"Linda, we need to get moving now," Shamus said. "Carol and her family will be here soon, and we should be making ourselves scarce."

The woman nodded. She gathered her children close. Both of them very keenly avoided making any eye contact with me.

I needed to see about working some more bright, friendly color into the costume.

With Shamus in the lead, and my bugs sweeping the area, we stepped over the insensate bodies of Rune and the kidnappers.

"The hallway's empty," I said to Shamus.

We hustled through the hallway to the stairwell. Linda whispered to soothe one of the kids, a boy who couldn't have been older than six or seven. He'd balked at the idea of entering the dimly-lit stairwell. I could hardly blame him. The poor kid had been trapped in a closet for days, maybe.

Shamus knelt beside him. She pointed to me.

"She's scary, right?"

The boy nodded mutely, his eyes wide. I deflated a little inside.

"She's a friend," Shamus said. "And with a friend that scary, anything in that staircase is gonna be scared of _us_."

I tried my best to appear affably intimidating.

Linda scooped up her son. The other kid, a girl a year or two older than her brother, looked around fearfully but stayed quiet. As we swung open the door and ascended the stairs, my bugs began to pick up several groups of skinheads moving toward the building with purpose. Undoubtedly, they'd have Empire capes with them as well. Kaiser had plenty to spare. I tapped Shamus on the shoulder, and inclined my head. Since I didn't want to freak out our rescued hostages, I had to hope that Shamus would perform one of her customary feats of deduction. Her nod and tightened smile told me she had.

"Ok if we pick up the pace a little?" she asked Linda. "Our ride's almost here."

Our steps came faster now. I had to resist the temptation to take the stairs two at a time. Linda and the kids could never have kept up.

Shamus's phone began to ring as we rounded the third-floor landing. She answered halfway through the first ring.

"Almost there!" Shamus said. "Sit tight." She jammed the phone back in her pocket.

"They're here," she said.

The Empire reinforcements were entering the building now. I could feel Rune beginning to stir.

After several tense moments of shoving against the rusty rooftop door, it gave way with a screech, and we burst out onto the roof.

Linda gasped in relief as the half-dozen members of New Wave standing on the roof turned to greet us, looking like a pantheon of Greek gods in the flesh. The kids cheered. I couldn't help feeling a bit put out that we hadn't received any such acclaim when pulling them out of the closet. Shamus patted me on the shoulder.

Brandish stepped forward.

"Do any of you need immediate attention from Panacea?" she asked, her tone clipped and professional.

"Nobody's got serious injuries," Shamus said. "We should move. The Empire's backup is already inside."

"Linda, you're with Lady Photon," Brandish said, pointing to her sister. "I'll take your kids. Shamus, you go with Laserdream. Lady Photon will give me a lift. Your partner's with Glory Girl."

Glory Girl thankfully saved me the awkwardness of maneuvering into the standard flying carry position, as she immediately scooped me up as easily as I could have lifted a puppy. Panacea clambered onto her back, and mumbled something I didn't catch.

"Don't worry, Ames, we're not going far," Glory Girl said.

Shamus batted her eyelashes at Laserdream. "I'll be gentle."

Laserdream rolled her eyes. "Get on."

We took off just as the Empire's newcomers flooded into the stairwell.


	10. Rescue 2-5

The fresh, cool wind of the spring night whipped through my hair as we flew. I hoped my hair wasn't blowing in Glory Girl's face. That might not particularly endear me to her, and I did want to make a good impression. Flying like this, the sensation of freedom and power was exhilarating. The mask and lenses over my face let me enjoy the force of the wind while also fully taking in the spectacular site of Brockton Bay from the air.

After fifteen years living in Brockton Bay, I liked to think I knew my home pretty well, incalculably numerous warts and all. Seeing the city from several hundred feet up, while soaring through the air in the firm grip of Glory Girl, was an entirely new experience. Brockton Bay spread out below me. The lights of the Boardwalk twinkled to the northeast, starkly illuminated against the vast, shapeless dark of the ocean beyond.

To the south, the hulking skyscrapers of Downtown loomed. Even as far above the ground as we were, the tallest of Downtown's corporate monoliths rose well above us. They rose larger and larger as we sped toward the most well-developed and secure part of Downtown.

"What's your name, anyways?" Glory Girl said. "Mom said you were new in town."

I caught myself a second before saying "Taylor" and embarrassing myself as hopelessly inexperienced.

"I don't have one yet," I said. The roar of the wind rushing all around us forced us to nearly yell in order to be heard. "I guess I'm still thinking about it."

"Well, welcome to cape business in this town," Glory Girl said. She grinned. "You and your friend really stuck it to those Nazis tonight. Nice way to make an entrance. If you ever need any help with them, let me and Ames know."

Panacea offered a weak smile from her sister's back. Maybe flying didn't agree with her.

"Thanks," I said. "And, uh, thanks for the lift."

Glory Girl laughed. "My mom uses me as a ferry service a lot," she said. "That's what they don't tell you about super-strength, you know. You end up lugging stuff around a lot more often than you end up punching bad guys."

"Though not for lack of trying," Panacea said.

My stomach leapt as Glory Girl abruptly dropped like a stone for a few feet before pulling back up. Panacea squeaked. Mercifully, nearly biting off my tongue kept any sounds from squeezing out from between my lips.

"I _will_ drop you, Ames," Glory Girl said.

"Victoria! Behave." Brandish's voice carried through the air like the blast of a trumpet. The rest of New Wave, led by Lady Photon, flew arrayed in formation several dozen feet behind. Shielder, supporting Brandish, brought up the rear.

Victoria winced. "Okay, Mom, okay,", she said.

"Sorry," she said to me. "But don't worry, I wouldn't have dropped you. I've got a pretty firm grip. What's your power, by the way? Mom didn't say."

"I control bugs," I said. "Any kind of bugs."

I'd expected discomfiture to appear on Glory Girl's face. Much to my surprise, her eyes lit up instead, and she craned her neck a little closer. "_Any_ kind? That's fascinating. I've never heard of someone who works with bugs before, and I've studied a _lot _of capes."

"It wouldn't have been my number one pick, to be honest," I said.

Glory Girl laughed. "Work with what you get, right? Superpowers are still superpowers."

Which was easy for an Alexandria-package cape to say, of course, but she did have a point, so I tried not to hold it against her.

"Seriously, though, I think that's so cool," she continued. "What's your range? How many can you control at once?"

Though caught a little off guard by Glory Girl's surprisingly fervent interest in the minutiae of my powers, I managed to hold up my end of the conversation for the short duration of our journey.

We alighted on a rooftop near the heart of Downtown. Panacea seemed relieved to be back on solid ground, as she exchanged words with Linda. The kids seemed almost disappointed that they'd had to land. I found the solid ground beneath my feet reassuring.

Shamus sidled up alongside me, wearing her usual easy smirk. She tucked wind-tossed strands of hair back into order under her fedora.

"Nearly lost my hat right after takeoff," she said. "That was my first parahuman-assisted flight too. Gives you an appreciation for what we missed out on with all the flashy powers, doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't mind being able to fly," I admitted. "What do we do now?"

"Sit tight for just a sec," Shamus said. "After that, I'm thinking a celebratory dinner. I'll have you back at a reasonable hour, promise. You'll be as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for school as ever."

"It's a low bar to clear," I said.

Brandish stepped toward us. She extended me a hand. I took it in what I fervently hoped was a firm , confident handshake. Shamus shook hands as well, a dry smile on her face.

"Good work tonight," Brandish said. "You've helped us reunite an innocent family, and stuck a finger in the eye of the Empire in the process."

"What about the husband, your client?" I asked. Earlier, while roaming the streets, it had occurred to me that the Empire might grab him in retaliation. No mundane human jail would be proof against them, whether Kaiser had to buy his way in or batter it.

"The rest of New Wave moved in to escort him as soon as your partner called," Brandish said. "He's safe as well. But good thinking." She smiled, and gestured to me. "Have you picked a name? The papers will want something to print, and they're liable to craft their own if we don't supply one."

"Not yet," I said. A small part of me thrilled at the idea of my exploits actually making the mainstream news cycle. That wasn't what all this was about, but it wouldn't hurt, right?

"Let's keep our part in this little affair out of the news," Shamus said. "I wilt under the spotlight." She smirked.

"It's your decision," Brandish said. Even through the lenses of my mask, she managed to look me straight in the eye. "But the Empire will remember this, either way. Tread carefully."

"And as for the name, you're right to pick that one carefully too. Think it through, or you might end up like my sister." She smiled. "On the question of payment," she said to Shamus, "we'll be in touch. I'll need to see to my clients now."

"No sweat," Shamus said. "You know where to find us. We'll get out of your hair."

"Nice meeting you guys," Glory Girl said. "Feel free to jump in and crack some Empire skulls with us any time. You've got our number."

"I'm sure we'll be seeing more of you," Brandish said. "The Protectorate will have a patrol passing through the area soon. That'll give you some cover. Good night, and thank you."

"Thanks for the ride, and the rescue," I said. "It was an honor meeting you all."

"Case closed," Shamus said. "C'mon, let's get something to eat."

A few minutes later, Lisa and I sat in a remote back booth of the shabby twenty-four hour diner, far enough off in the corner to be away from prying ears. After parting ways with New Wave, we'd made our way back to the office and changed. My stomach had grumbled too persistently to turn down Lisa's offer to treat me to dinner.

"How'd you find this place?" I asked. "The food's great, but it looks like a dive."

Lisa took a bite out of a sandwich bursting at the seams with turkey.

"Apartment's around the corner," she mumbled between bites. "I was using my particular talent to find a place to eat."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"I was desperate," she said in between mouthfuls of sandwich. "Ended up with a wicked headache, too, but it was worth it." She eyed me speculatively.

"So," she said, "you just wrapped up your first successful job as part of the big time. How's it feel?"

"I'm glad we were able to help that family," I said. "And I'm probably experiencing the aftereffects of shock from having met New Wave."

"They cut quite the figure as a team," Lisa said. "All that blonde hair. It's like a bunch of Greek gods flying overhead. I admit, as capes, they're impressive. Still, as people, they've got their own issues. Every cape does, really. Tie superpowers to fucked-up personal trauma, and it's no surprise that's what you get."

"Like what you were saying about Rune," I said.

"Yeah," she said. "She's a real piece of work. No surprise there, though. Nice, stable people don't buy into all that Hitler shit."

"No argument there," I said. "You can really tell all those details about somebody just like that?"

"Scary, I know," Lisa said. "Makes it tough to care about people, sometimes, when you're so keenly aware of all their worst parts. But it sure lets you screw with people's heads." Her lips quirked in a wry smile. "That's why Shadow Stalker doesn't like me too much."

"I hope my dark past isn't too troubling," I said.

Lisa laughed. "Hon, you're a saint compared to the rest of these clowns, believe me."

"What you said, about trauma," I said. "Is it really common with capes?"

Her eyes widened a bit.

"Oh wow, you don't know. What happened to you happens to every cape, more or less the same way. Worst day of your life, then bam - superpowers." She took another bite of the sandwich. "I'll tell you about mine some other time. Only fair."

I opted not to pry.

"Thanks for taking me with you," I said. "It felt good to be able to help someone. My first night out in costume, I patrolled but didn't find anyone, anything. Even with my bugs, I wasn't able to find the people who really needed help."

"You handled yourself like a pro," Lisa said. "I should be thanking you for bailing my ass out again. I may be able to rip people's self-image to shreds, but the duct tape strategy works way too well against me."

"I was surprised that the bug swarm worked so well," I admitted. "I figured that Rune would be tougher."

"Like I said, superpowers aside, we're all just people," Lisa said. "We've got the same foibles, the same weaknesses as everyone else, if not worse, psychologically." She grinned. "Rune won't be sleeping for weeks."

As I began to slide into a brief fit of guilt over having thoroughly enjoyed sending neo-Nazis into paroxysms of arachnophobic fear, Lisa forestalled me with a wag of her finger.

"No need to feel guilty," she said. "I've been following the politics of the Brockton Bay underground and cape scene for a while now. Take it from me, those racists are closing in on asserting total control over organized crime here in the Bay. They've pushed the ABB and the Merchants to the fringes, and as bad as those groups are, things will be even worse with Kaiser in charge. Believe me, they deserve everything you give them."

I swirled my drink while mulling over what she'd said.

"The heroes really won't be able to stop them?"

"They can only do so much when they're outnumbered by a gang of powerful capes run with ruthless efficiency," she said. "Kaiser may be an arrogant prick, but he demands absolute obedience from his followers, and he gets it. The Empire doesn't make many mistakes for the heroes to exploit." She sighed. "It's going to be very bad for business if they take over completely. The Protectorate will shift assets in to whittle them down. We could end up with a full-on war."

"The idea of the Empire having free reign over the whole city…" I frowned.

"Yeah. But if it happens, don't worry, we'll survive," she said. "Let's just say that I can make us very inconvenient to get rid of." She somehow managed to smirk while chewing a hefty bite of sandwich.

"You know, I believe it," I said. "Thanks. It's reassuring to know you're that prepared."

"Atta girl," she said with a wink. "Want to come hang at my place once we're done here? It really is right around the corner."

"That sounds nice," I said. "I won't need to be home for a while, anyways."

"I'll be honest and admit that I've been dying to show it off to somebody," she said. "A girl likes to impress, you know?"

"I'll let you know once I have something to impress with," I said. "My room's not exactly tourist material."

We laughed.

I closed the door behind me as I kicked off my shoes in our entryway. After an hour or so of talking with Lisa at her apartment, I'd hopped on a bus and made it back just before eleven o'clock. A late enough hour for Dad to be curious, but not late enough for him to freak out.

He'd been waiting for me in the living room, half-asleep in our old armchair. I felt a momentary pang of guilt for not calling him earlier to let him know where I'd gone.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Taylor," he said. "Late night tonight? Where were you?"

"Out with a girl I met," I said. "Lisa."

"I remember you mentioned her earlier," he said. "Where'd you meet her?"

"At Arcadia, after I transferred," I said. "She's in a couple of my classes."

"Were you working on a project?" he asked.

"Just hanging out at her place," I said. "Got dinner, too."

"Sounds nice," he said.

"It was," I agreed.

He smiled.


	11. Stakeout 3-1

Five and a half feet of smug blonde dropped into the cafeteria chair next to mine.

"Hiya," Lisa said. "Hope you don't mind some company."

"How did you get in here?" I asked. "They check IDs at the entrance."

She grinned, and flashed a freshly-laminated Arcadia High student ID for a "Lisa Greenwood".

"I could talk my way past them, of course, but this is easier."

"Nice craftsmanship," I said. "What brings you to the barren wasteland that is my lunch table?"

"Well, first of all, having seen this place, you should really come meet me for lunch sometime," she said. "I'll make sure you get off campus clean. Nothing to it."

I prodded at my adequate-yet-underwhelming meal with my plastic fork. "I may take you up on that sometime soon."

"Anyways," Lisa said, "while I am here for the company, I do have an ulterior motive. I've got a good case. We can start tonight, if you're able."

"I'm not going to walk into the office and find Alexandria sitting there, am I?"

She laughed.

"This one's a little less star-studded. No blindsiding, promise. Some thief-slash-arsonist has been hitting health clinics that serve the poorest elements of town. We've been hired to find out who's doing it, and stop them."

"Who's doing it?"

"Can't quite say for sure yet. Brockton being Brockton, there's sadly far too many possibilities. I've got some interviews with directors of the clinics targeted so far scheduled for after lunch. Should have enough to work with after that."

"Please don't solve the case before I get out of school," I said. "You've gotten my hopes up now."

"I'll try to hold myself back," she said. "How's the food here, anyways?"

"Could be worse," I said. "That sums up my whole experience here well, to be honest."

"I didn't mention this when we met, but if you want, I could totally help you pass the G.E.D.," she said. "Wouldn't be hard for me to get my hands on a copy of this year's test."

"Now that I'm actually able to learn something, I think I'll stick it out," I said. "School's not quite hell on earth any more."

Lisa nodded, a warm smile on her face. "That's good to hear. Still, any time you want to blow off a class, I'm only a call away."

"Appreciated," I said. "About what you said, why would somebody be hitting health clinics? It can't be _that_ profitable."

"Well, the drugs will command a decent price on the black market, but you're right that there has to be something more to it," she said. She grimaced and smacked the side of her head.

"Don't tell me that you actually missed something," I said.

"You wish," she said. "I'm just trying to hold back my power. If I'm not careful, it slips through, and I need to save it for those interviews later."

I gestured at the backpack slouched on the floor by my feet. "I've got aspirin in my bag, if you need one."

She quirked a querulous eyebrow.

"I like to be prepared," I said.

"And I'll shamelessly take advantage of that," she said. "Hold on a sec while I go snag a water bottle."

After procuring some water, Lisa gulped down two of the aspirin I'd had in my pack. I checked my watch. Still a little time to kill before the bell.

"By the way, Carol came through, as promised," Lisa said. "It's a nominal fee, at least by my standards, but I've deposited your share into the account I set up for you. Treat yourself to something nice."

"I was thinking more along the lines of saving for college, if I can" I said.

Lisa sighed and shook her head. "How depressingly responsible of you," she said. "But I guess I can't blame you. Can you believe the price of college these days?"

"And maybe a car," I allowed.

"Now that's more like it," she said, grinning. "A girl's got to live a little."

"I'm trying to learn," I said. "It's a process."

"We've also got that favor from New Wave, time of use T.B.D.," she said. "Not bad to have at all. That said, hopefully it'll be some time before we need it. I won't say never because, well, in this line of work…" She shrugged.

"You haven't heard anything from the Empire, have you?"

"Not a peep. They know I was involved, of course, but there's been no pushback yet. With their drive to chew up most of the territory of the ABB and the Merchants, bigger fish than us are out there to fry."

"I hope you're right," I said.

"Aren't I always? Plus, you're still an unknown quantity to them. Gives us an edge. People aren't fully aware of what you do. Makes us less of an appetizing target when they can go smack around Uber and Leet again for knocking over the wrong stash. Still, we'll keep an eye open, just to be sure."

Lisa's confidence was reassuring, but the prospect of avoiding an Empire Eighty-Eight manhunt left me somewhat ill at ease. Still, that was a bridge to cross at a future date.

Lisa plucked a chip off my tray and popped it in her mouth, then made a face. "Yowch. Just what are they feeding you guys here, anyways? I thought Arcadia was supposed to have all of that Downtown money."

"Believe it or not, it's still a drastic improvement over Winslow," I said. "As with pretty much everything else here."

"Like I said," Lisa said. "Let's do lunch sometime, 'kay?"

The electronic chime of the school bell echoed through the background din of the cafeteria.

"That's your cue," Lisa said. "Here, I'll walk with you." She swung a colorful backpack onto her shoulder.

"The backpack is a nice touch," I said. "You fit right in."

She smirked. "It's my fieldcraft. The hallmark of any good detective, right?"

We wove through the crowd of babbling students filtering out of the cafeteria. Thanks to the sheer number of Arcadia students, Lisa didn't receive a second glance from any of the teachers on lunch duty. Neither did I, of course. It was strangely comforting, in a way.

"It _is_ nice to be anonymous," Lisa said. She grinned. "I also appreciate that you refrained from any cracks about my 'tradecraft' in light of the fact that I got us caught by the Empire in the first place."

"My fault too," I said. "Glass houses, stones, et cetera."

"Very magnanimous of you," she said. "It's appreciated. Still, my bad. I'd say it won't happen again, but I try not to lie to my friends."

"Seriously, don't worry about it," I said. "We saved someone, and nobody got hurt. I'd call that a win."

"Rune might disagree," Lisa said with a chuckle as we ascended the stairwell to the second floor. "But I do take your point. In a perfect world, I'd have a perfect power, but such is the world we live in. If you ask me, it's grossly unfair. It's not like Glory Girl's punch power switches off if she punches too many people, after all."

"Tell me about it," I said. "She won every kind of genetic lottery there is."

"That's life for you," Lisa said. "All we can do is make do."

We made our way through the halls towards my classroom. Lisa caught a few intrigued glances, which probably had more to do with her freckled looks and confident swagger than any suspicion as to her membership in the student body.

"This is your stop, I assume?" Lisa said as I halted by a particular classroom door. I nodded.

"Thanks for stopping by," I said. "I'll meet up with you after school."

"If you change your mind about blowing off class, you know where to find me," she said. "I'll have plenty of time on my hands."

"We both know you'll probably have things figured out by then anyway," I said.

"Maybe I'll take it slow today," she said with a smirk. "Seeya later, Taylor."


	12. Stakeout 3-2

We pushed through the double doors of the downtown free clinic at approximately six-thirty in the evening. The setting April sun threw sheets of warm orange light through the high-set, narrow windows.

I'd spent the afternoon with Lisa after leaving school. We'd killed some time people-watching near our office in Downtown while munching on some cheap burritos. Lisa proved particularly adept at conjuring bizarre, elaborate, and frequently lurid explanations for even the most minor quirks in someone's behavior. She had steadfastly maintained that each story was spun without the assistance of her power, thanks to the headaches she claimed would result from overuse. I still wasn't entirely certain whether she'd been messing with me.

"Showtime," she said as we walked up to the front desk. As we were fully clad in costume, of course, nearly everyone slouched in the waiting room turned their heads in our direction.

Attracting attention while costumed in public hadn't yet settled right with me. After so many years being the one to gawk at whatever cape was making their way down the road, finding myself on the other side of the equation was disorientating, to say the least.

"You get used to it," Shamus murmured as we stepped up to the desk. "I won't pretend like I don't enjoy it."

Speaking of disorientating, the mind-reading schtick was still weird, too.

The woman at the desk waved us on before Shamus could open her mouth. "Straight down that hall, third room on the left," she said. "He's expecting you."

"Our reputation precedes us," Shamus said. "C'mon, let's go meet our guy." She strode down the hallway with an affected swagger that caused her trenchcoat to billow and dance.

Once again, I revised upwards my estimate of her time spent perfecting the dramatization of her private detective affectations.

Shamus led the way into the third office on the left. Tiling gleamed stark white under the sickly pale glow of a harsh fluorescent light. Behind the desk in the center of the room sat a middle-aged man with a slight sadness to his features. He looked up as we entered, but his face betrayed no reaction to the arrival of two capes in his office.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing at a pair of chairs opposite his desk.

Despite being hard-backed and wooden, with much of the lacquer scraped away, the chair proved surprisingly comfortable.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Shamus said cheerily. "What intricate mystery needs solving?"

"The details don't deviate much from the summary I gave you over the phone," he said. "Suffice to say that clinics throughout the city are being torched and robbed of valuable equipment and supplies, and I'd like to prevent mine from being next on the list."

"We can figure this one out for you, no sweat," Shamus said. She leaned back in her chair and regarded the director with an appraising glance.

"I hate to be indelicate-" She snorted. "Well, that's a lie. Anyways, before we bog down in the details, we should get the question of payment off everyone's chests."

"Rest assured, you'll be compensated," the director said. "Out of my own pocket, should it prove necessary. We're doing meaningful work here, and I don't intend to see it stop."

I hoped it didn't come to that, myself. This place seemed to need the money a lot more than Lisa or I would.

"Works for me," Shamus said. "Let's get down to brass tacks. What makes you think that you're next on this enigma's hit list?"

"Absolutely nothing," he said. "Which is why I'm hiring you. I need to know if we're a target, and if so, I need the robbery prevented. I expect that your faculties in assessing the threat will greatly exceed mine."

"I'd be insulted if you'd said anything else," Shamus said. "Yeah, we can do that for you. We'll need to take a look around."

"Of course," he said. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

Shamus waved a hand dismissively.

"Nah," she said. "Best if I get a clear look at things first. If it becomes necessary, my associate and I can grill you after looking around."

"By all means," he said. "I'll instruct the staff that you're not to be disturbed. I'll be here if you need me."

"Of course," Shamus said. She stood. "C'mon, let's hit the beat."

"Please try to avoid terrorizing my employees, if you wouldn't mind," he said.

"I'm always on my best behavior," she said with a smarmy grin. "But I can't make any promises for my hellion of a teammate here."

The director regarded me with a wary look. I assumed what I hoped was a non-threatening posture. Why was Shamus always trying to sell me as some hell-raising, blood-crazed maniac of a cape? My costume didn't look _that _scary - right?

Shamus meandered throughout the facility for the better part of an hour, and I followed in her wake. She looked in cabinets, peered under sinks, and sifted through storerooms and exam rooms alike.

In keeping to the plan Shamus and I had discussed prior to entering the clinic, my bugs fanned out through the building, picking over every shadowy nook and hidden cranny in a hunt for anything suspicious. While I could now count the number of bandages the clinic had squirreled away down to the very last loose roll, I'd uncovered absolutely nothing of real interest.

"Coming up empty?" Shamus asked as we looked through the very last room on our search, an exam room which smelled faintly of chemicals and gleamed stark, sterile white under the fluorescents.

"Seems that way," I said. "Lots of medical supplies, but you don't need me to tell you that."

"Don't sweat it," she said. "These places aren't being robbed for the supplies, anyways."

"Sounds like you have a theory," I said.

"Don't I always?" She smirked. "We're looking at a lone operator here, not a group, and the goal was to impact the clinics financially, not to loot them for personal profit. In fact, I'd be comfortable in saying that this has probably been the work of a cape, or someone closely associated with one."

"But what does a cape have to gain by ripping off medical clinics?"

Shamus hopped up onto a counter and dangled her legs over the side.

"I'm glad you asked," she said. Undoubtedly, she would be all too happy to explain.

"It's the Empire," she said. "Again. They're hitting clinics in low-income minority neighborhoods, then inserting themselves into the recovery process and taking over. All done through a proxy, though, so they don't stir up the PRT and complicate things."

"That makes a disturbing amount of sense," I said.

"Doesn't it just? Looks like we'll be jabbing another thorn into their side with this one."

"Do you think we can do it?"

Shamus quirked an eyebrow, the facial movement barely visible under her mask.

"I think _you_ can do it," she said. "You're the brawn of our little operation, honey."

"Aren't I more of the Watson?"

"Hah! Flatterer. Remember, Watson was a war veteran."

Shamus abruptly drummed her fingers on the faded white countertop.

"All of that said, something about this doesn't feel quite right," she said. "There's something I'm missing. God, I hate having to say that."

"Your theory seems pretty clear to me," I said. "What could be missing?"

She grimaced. "Honestly, I have no idea," she said. She made a face as though she'd accidentally swallowed some of the antibacterial hand soap sitting by the sink. "Another one of my least favorite things to admit. I can't let my power run wild on it right now, either. We don't have that much to go on, and I won't be much use to you later if I'm laid out with a migraine."

"Doesn't sound very enjoyable," I said.

"Ah, who am I kidding," she said with a sigh. "Not knowing is way worse. I'll take the migraine."

"I've still got that bottle of aspirin," I said, fishing it out of one of the pouches I'd added to my costume since my last excursion.

Shamus swooned onto the counter.

"You're an angel," she said. "Gimmie." She kicked her legs free of their tangle with her trenchcoat and leapt down off the counter.

"Thank god for stringent workplace hygiene requirements," she said as she filled a clear plastic cup in the exam room's sink. Though the peeling posters and scratched counters of the room exuded a hard-worn atmosphere, the spotless metal of the sink gleamed bright under the lights. Clearly, the director wasn't one to let his employees flout the basics.

Shamus abruptly froze, as though her mind had momentarily found itself someplace else. "Of course!" she said. "It would be her. Gah!" She hurriedly switched off the sink as water swelled over the rim of the overfilled cup and ran down her hand.

I waited with expectation as Shamus knocked back the aspirin I'd handed her.

"It's Circus," she said to me. "Circus is the one the Empire's using to knock over the clinics to maintain deniability. Kind of a low-rent job for her, but we're working the case too, so I guess I can't judge."

I racked my mental record of Brockton villains for information on Circus. While the name sounded familiar, I'd spent most of my research time on the major villains, rather than the comparative small fries.

"Isn't she that pyrokinetic acrobat?" I asked.

"One and the same," she said. A sudden frown fell across her face. "But I can't shake the feeling that there's still another angle to all this."

"You should leave it be for now," I said. "My first-aid training didn't cover what to do when somebody's brains burst out of their skull."

"I may be wishing for my head to explode and put me out of my misery once the headache starts," she said. "Let's hope I didn't overdo it too badly."

Through my bugs, I sensed the bustle of the clinic's few employees as they attempted to keep pace with the constant stream of patients. The stakes here might be small compared to your average superhuman clash, but letting these people down wasn't an option.

"So, what's the plan for dealing with Circus?" I asked. "Not that I don't appreciate the vote of confidence, but my powers may not be the best match for hers."

"We'll mull that one over," she said. "Over some food, preferably. Circus won't hit this place till much later. We should take some downtime."

"You're that sure of when she'll come?"

"Remember, I was doing some digging into the old case files," she said. "I could nail this one to the minute."

"Guess I won't argue with that."

"Damn straight. Now let's go eat."

**A/N: **

This setting's Lisa hasn't actually spent any time around Circus, and has had no motivation to delve deeper into Circus's circumstances, due to the lack of Coil as a shared patron with mysterious ends. She certainly hasn't seen Circus in their civilian identity. As such, she has no knowledge of Circus's gender fluidity, and since she doesn't, neither does Taylor.


	13. Stakeout 3-3

Lisa swallowed a chunk of turkey sandwich and blinked at me.

"You sure you don't want me to help set her house on fire?" she said. "We'll be very discreet. We can even make sure nobody's home before we toss the lighter."

That got a quiet laugh out of me. Laughs at what I'd been through at Emma's hands still didn't come easily, but having someone to talk to who genuinely _heard_ me made all the difference in the world. I considered my own hulking roast beef sandwich before replying. Some subtle yet persistent prompting from Lisa had encouraged me to finally spill my guts on the whole sordid story of myself, Emma, Sophia, and Madison, but the words still came only in fits and starts, like I had to wrench them out of some rusted-over vault in my memories.

"Believe me, I've thought about it," I said, "but taking revenge like that would just be a win for her in the end. I'd rather leave those memories behind and slam the door on them. Never seeing her again would still be a few eons too soon."

"I can respect that," Lisa said. She dropped her sandwich back onto its plate. "Still, if you ever change your mind, say the word, and _fwoosh._" She mimed an explosion with a great deal of enthusiasm.

I set my own sandwich plate down on Lisa's kitchen table. We'd made our way back to her apartment, as she was adamant that intercession at the clinic would not be required until much later.

Expensive stainless steel appliances gleamed under the warm light of an ornate standing lamp tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. In my visits to Lisa's apartment, I had learned that her claim to have a considerable amount of funds to draw upon had been no idle boast. High-end furnishings were the rule anywhere the eye looked. It was the kind of apartment you'd associate with a high-powered lawyer or executive, not a teenaged dropout, but superpowers had a way of confounding your expectations.

I often wondered why Lisa had chosen to live in Brockton Bay, rather than somewhere more glamorous. As far as major cities went, my crumbling, crime-ridden, white supremacist hometown wouldn't have topped my list of places to set up shop. Maybe New York, or San Francisco, but Brockton? I decided to ask her.

Lisa scratched her head.

"I don't know if I could tell you myself," she said. "After I got my powers, I drifted around for a bit before I washed up here in Brockton. Leaving seemed like more trouble than it'd be worth."

She seemed to gather herself for a moment.

"Plus, I needed a backwater to cool my heels in for a while," she said. "The A-list cities get you too much attention. As humble and conflict-averse as I am,"-we both chuckled at that-"my power is potent enough and broadly applicable enough that there's no way I could avoid getting snapped up by a team. The heroes might do it more politely than the villains, but either way I'm still somebody's Thinker on a leash at the end of the day, right?" She shrugged. "I want to be my own boss. Here in Brockton, the heroes aren't established enough to waste time strong-arming me, and the villains are either useless burnouts or organized around purity tests that I won't pass. That gives me space to operate on the fringes."

The explanation was entirely rational, without a single logical flaw to pick at, but it still left me with the feeling of someone reading a presentation off of a notecard. Still, if this was a sore spot, I had no desire to push further. Especially not when there was no winning a bout of verbal jousting with this girl.

"I can't argue with your logic, but you picked a major dumpster fire of a city to live in," I said.

"Anything to keep the cases coming through my door," Lisa said. "A girl's got to earn a living."

"I thought you said you didn't need the money?" I asked, a joking tone in my voice. I was in the mood to rib her a bit.

"You've got me, officer!" Lisa said. "Take me away!" She thrust her hands forward, squeezed together, as though ready for a pair of handcuffs. We both laughed.

As our laughter subsided, Lisa glanced over at a digital clock set upon an extremely tasteful lamp stand.

"Time for us to suit up and get back," she said. "It'd be terrible manners to be late for our guest. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

"I'd hate to disappoint," I said. The amount of time I spent around Lisa necessitated that the rust be scraped off my long-inert ability to bat a bit of banter back and forth. You could call it being friendly, or you could call it a survival tactic. If I ended up working with Lisa long-term, I half-expected to sound like the impossibly witty lead of a televised teen drama by the end of the year.

Well, I could think of worse fates. I'd lived worse fates, in fact.

Lisa and I covered the few blocks to our office at a brisk walk, before sneaking in the back entrance Lisa had prepared in order to avoid detection. Once inside, we tugged on our suits, hers being a bit more of a literal suit than mine. I still hadn't asked her who her tailor was, but they were good.

As I ran a hand through my hair to disentangle the snarl created by tugging my mask over my head, Lisa slid her stun gun into a coat pocket, fastened her fedora tight atop her crown, and settled her thin black mask on the bridge of her nose. We now looked every bit the part of capes, even if I still didn't quite feel it yet.

Lisa looked over at me with a smile. "Let's go prevent arson. Gee, that doesn't sound nearly as fun as committing it. Don't you feel like we're missing out?"

"You seem to have fire on the mind today," I said. "Should I be taking out insurance?"

"Where's the fun in arson if you do it to your friends? All that gets you is months of listening to whining about smoke inhalation and repair bills."

"I'm very glad you're on my side."

"You know, we could use your bugs. Douse a bunch in gasoline, send a few in with an open flame. Totally undetectable. We could make the front page, maybe even issue a manifesto. Think of the brand-recognition potential! Then we save the city from ourselves, but for a reasonable fee, of course."

"Well, I can't say people wouldn't be talking about us. How did we end up on this topic, again?"

"A wandering mind is the key to a worldly intellect."

"I'll take your word for it," I said. "Ready to go?"

Lisa demurred, touching the brim of her fedora. "After you," she said.

Some well-known actors could learn a thing or two from her commitment to that role.

Shamus and I made good time across town to the clinic. We walked, but didn't draw too much attention, despite wearing our costumes. Well, Lisa's fell just on the civilian side of eccentric, so mostly my costume would be the one drawing attention. My bugs, Lisa's intuition, the wise disinclination of Brockton citizens to be out after dark, and the disrepair of many of the city's streetlights combined to render skulking towards our objective a practical enough course of action. We arrived shortly after ten o'clock.

The clinic had been closed for the night, and its interior sat mutely in a darkness absolutely devoid of people. The streetlight which fell through the clinic's large-paneled front windows provided a sort of half-light, under which stark white counters and freshly-scrubbed tile could be seen through the dark. The whole effect suggested the kind of horror movie that leaves you queasy about setting foot in a hospital for months. I pushed the unease back down into its hidden burrow in the pit of my stomach. I had superpowers, dammmit. Gross, creepy superpowers, but superpowers nonetheless. Some pop culture tableau wouldn't scare me.

Shamus sized up the exterior of the building. "No metal shutters? These guys really are hopeless do-gooders. They're practically asking to get robbed."

"Maybe they figure it'd send the wrong kind of message," I said. "It's a charity clinic, right? They probably want it to seem open."

"But they don't want to be burned down, so: problem."

I shrugged.

"It's a bit hopelessly optimistic, but I get it," I said.

"And that's why you're the conscience of this operation," Shamus said. "Now, time to let ourselves in." She produced her Tinkertech key with a flourish. "This gadget was worth every penny."

"It certainly takes the breaking out of breaking and entering," I said.

Shamus sighed. "I know, right? But a girl's got to make some sacrifices to stay in the PRT's good graces."

"You seem to be in a felonious mood today," I said. "Should I be worried?"

Shamus placed a hand over her heart and affected her usual mock-wounded tone.

"I thought we were on the same page!" she said. "This partnership was founded upon illegal trespass and electrocuting a Ward, after all."

"Self-preservation on both counts."

"I return to my point about the conscience of the operation." She jammed the Tinkertech key into the lock. With the way the key flowed, it might almost be more accurate to say that she jammed it _through _the lock. One twist, and we were in.

"What do you do if they're electronic?" I asked, as we stepped into the lobby. Brockton Bay could be counted upon for a certain degree of security procedures befitting a backwater third-tier city, but surely some institutions would've adopted the latest and greatest measures.

"What, like a keypad?" she asked. "With a keycode? Where if you know the code, you punch it into the lock, and it opens the door?"

Oh. Right.

"Anyways, this thing does keycard-based ones too," she said, waving the Tinkertech key about. "Like I said, worth every penny." She looked about in the dark of the entryway, then reached for her pocket. "Flashlights."

I reached for a loop around my belt and retrieved the heavy-duty flashlight she'd given me. Removing the extra weight from my leg was a relief. You wouldn't find this flashlight on the shelf at your local convenience store. It sported a solid metal body, and enough of a haft to crack somebody over the head so hard that they'd be lucky to get back up at all, if you put enough muscle into the swing.

Brilliant white light spilled forth in front of me, casting the bureaucratic mundanities of the clinic's furnishing into stark relief as I clicked the flashlight on. Shamus swept her own flashlight over, and her beam welled together with mine. Under the twin glares of our lights, the room no longer exuded the unsettling aura of some hospital slasher film. No, now it felt more like some kind of sci-fi horror one. Maybe a zombie movie. I very much so regretted letting Shamus talk me into watching that last one recently. She'd done nothing but pick apart plot holes and predict twists the entire time.

Shamus's own flashlight was of the pencil variety, far less imposing than my own. That said, it did still throw off an appreciable amount of light.

"Comparing sizes?" Shamus said with a snicker. "You know, I always hear that it's how you use it that counts. Then again, somebody with a small flashlight would say that, wouldn't they?"

"I'm not sure how to take that," I said. I pushed out with my bugs, sweeping the entire clinic to reassure myself that we were well and truly alone. There would be no repeats of the rooftop incident.

"Aw, you're no fun. Anyways, you get the big one because you're the muscle," she said. "Image is key. That, and carrying around one that heavy would be hell on my suit pockets." She smoothed out a wrinkle in the silk of one trouser with careful attention. "You do not want to know how much this cost me."

We carefully picked our way further into the clinic. Our flashlight beams flicked down hallways and into rooms to reveal nothing more than stark white walls and stark white tile. Whoever scrubbed the floors here took real pride in their work.

Shamus ducked into a supply closet as we passed it and came out with a fire extinguisher in each hand. "Just in case," she said, pressing one onto me. They were on the small side for extinguishers, which let me hold both my flashlight and the extinguisher without much difficulty.

"Would Circus really burn down a building?" I asked. "That seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?"

"In the best-case scenario, she won't get the chance," Shamus said. "Naturally, we'll pull off the best-case scenario. But, in the event that forces beyond my control conspire to sabotage my carefully-laid and sagacious plans, we may need to not get burned alive. So, extinguishers."

"When you put it that way, I'll hold on to this one."

"That's my girl," Shamus said. "Now, we need to find a room with at least two exits to meet her in. That way, she can't just burn the door down on us. She's also got some kind of power based around throwing knives with enough accuracy to pin one of your bugs to the wall. That's not an exaggeration, by the way. She can literally do that. So, if we give her the chance to plant a knife in a non-vital area and get away-well, let's not give her that chance. I like all my blood inside my body, you know?"

"No clear lines of fire," I said. "Got it. If she's so versatile, how can we stop her?"

"That's where you come in," Shamus said. "She may be a grab-bag with powers that make her hell for human mooks, but she's still human herself. No extra toughness factor. You'll be able to trip her up or sting the crap out of her just like anybody else. Couldn't be easier."

"I'm glad one of us thinks so," I said. Anticipating that the moment of conflict loomed, given Shamus's penchant for dramatic timing, I began gathering the swarms of bugs I'd marshaled on our walk over from the office. I had kept the insectoid masses out of view in deference to public sentiment about teeming hordes of cockroaches swarming down streets, and still did so now, though the black pools of shadow throughout the building now filled up with onyx and brown carapaces of every description. The smallest bugs strung themselves out on every possible entrance to the clinic, front door, window, sewer, or otherwise, to serve as a living tripwire.

No, there would be no surprises this time.

I followed Shamus into a secondary waiting room. The waiting room sat at the T-junction of three separate hallways. The decor here appeared to be no exception to the clinic's two preferred traits: white and antiseptic.

"No movement yet," I said. "I've got bugs over every square inch of the building. When she moves, we'll know."

"What would I do without you?" Shamus said. She tapped her chin. "Hey, what about Tripwire? That's a pretty cool name for a cape. Has a nice hard-edged, don't-fuck-with-me ring to it."

I considered it for a moment. I did need to choose a name, after all. My window to select one myself instead of the local PRT selecting one for me could probably be measured in weeks, tops, if Shamus's predictions on that point held true.

"Sorry, but that doesn't feel quite right. I don't think I want to give the impression that I'm just a glorified alarm system. Maybe something a little more inspirational."

"Ah, but misleading names are perfect for luring the bad guys into mistakes," Shamus said. "Trust me, an ill-advised assumption can be every bit as lethal as a crossbow bolt to the face." She furrowed her brow. "Still, word would get out that you're a bug cape pretty quickly. Damn. Never fear, we'll come up with something for you before the bureaucrats do."

A group of gnats I'd stationed in the upper ducts of the clinic's central heating and cooling system tugged at my attention. An unknown force had displaced them and passed further in. A shiver of adrenaline coursed through my veins.

"She's here," I said.


	14. Stakeout 3-4

I vectored more bugs onto the movement in the ducts. None were large enough to draw attention, but as more and more infinitesimal insects agglomerated onto my target, my mental outline of the movement solidified.

"There's moment in the ducts," I said. "Humanoid movement."

"Right on schedule," Shamus said. "Time for us to earn our undoubtedly flimsy paycheck." She set her extinguisher against a nearby chair, and retrieved her stun gun from the recesses of her coat. A quick prod of the activation stud satisfied her that the high-voltage gadget still worked. She stuffed it back into her pocket, and regaled me with her trademark grin. "Ready for Phase Two?"

That grin always heralded trouble.

I nodded. "I'll send her the message as soon as she's out of the vents."

"Great. We've got this one in the bag. Still, keep your extinguisher handy. You know-"

"Just in case," I finished. The presence in the ducts squirmed towards a gap my scouts had identified as an exit vent.

"Hah! Somebody's paying attention. There's a future for you with this organization."

"Thanks, boss." The faint suggestion of a metallic rasp carried itself through the air to our ears. The presence had escaped the ducts. This meant that it now fell to me to execute Phase Two of Shamus's plan.

As the intruder straightened to their feet, a team of flies I'd harnessed together with spider silk and tied to the switch of a lamp in that office strained on their ropes. After a few seconds of pulling, the switch tugged over, and bathed the room in light. Presumably, anyways. I couldn't tell from the other side of the clinic, and if my bugs could pass me that information, I hadn't figured out how yet.

My target paused in mid-step. I took the opportunity to sketch an arrow on the wall with a swarm of earwigs, and hoped Circus wasn't insectophobic. It could be difficult for me to gauge the creep-factor of my powers accurately. I'd never been fond of bugs, exactly, but a few months of living with them in my head round-the-clock had largely desensitized me to the phobia of small things with lots of legs running over your skin.

Circus bit on my lure, and headed in our direction. As she crossed into the hallway, I tugged on the lights there with another spider-silk bobsled team, and reflected that if Rune hadn't already been insectophobic, she definitely was now. I couldn't muster up too much in the way of sympathy, though, seeing as she was a literal neo-Nazi.

Circus was now just around the corner from us, and following another arrow which I'd placed on the walls. Illumination from the light which I had just switched on now spilled around the corner, spreading wan light into the side of the room closest to Circus. Shamus switched off her flashlight, and I did the same for mine. As Circus approached the corner, we retreated into the relative darkness of the mouth of the far hallway. Shamus stationed herself next to the light switch.

Circus rounded the corner, a half-lit figure about fifteen feet away, and Shamus flipped on the switch. I blinked behind my mask as harsh white florescent light scoured away the shadow.

"Hiya," Shamus said. "Got a second to chat?"

For a moment, I had trouble picking out Circus's face from the welter of colors which formed her costume. She wore a one-piece technicolor harlequin suit, with her hair swept back under a peaked cap checkered with garish green-and-red checkered squares, and she looked utterly unamused.

"I'll give you thirty seconds," she said. "Make it worth my while." She ran a stiletto knife across the knuckles of her right hand to emphasize her point. The blade gleamed cold and hard in the stark light.

I swept my bugs closer under cover of the walls, drawing thousands and thousands of them together in a hidden net around Circus. My spiders spooled out as much silk thread as I could wring out of them. I piled the production in coiling heaps. Not that I didn't trust Shamus, of course, but the snags in our recent adventures had taught me that it paid to plan for the worst.

"You're getting paid to burn these rinky-dink places, obviously," Shamus said. "Do you know who's paying you to do it?"

"Sure I do. Someone with a lot of money and very little appetite for questions. What else would I need to know?" The knife continued on its glittering arc.

"Look, I get it. It doesn't pay when you scare off the payday. But, really, have you thought about it? Who benefits from this, what's the angle, what's the fallout. What do you think's going on here?"

Circus narrowed her eyes behind her mask, irked. She gestured at me with the knife.

"Is your friend mute?" she said to Shamus. "Or is she somehow patient enough to listen to you babbling without losing her mind?"

"Talking's not my strong suit," I said. "You should listen to what Shamus has to say." My bugs drew closer. Talking was Shamus's superpower, not mine, so the more of that I could leave to her, the better.

"Shamus?" Circus said. She laughed, then spat to one side. "Cute name. Sell me on why I should listen to you over a hundred thousand dollars in my bank account. Because, let me tell you, that's a very convincing argument."

"I'll tell you, then," Shamus said, seemingly unfazed. "No charge. You've been hired by the Empire. They're the ones looking to wipe out all of the clinics in Downtown."

Circus rolled her eyes. "You mean to tell me I'm working for villains? _Quel horreur. _I'll be sure to report it to the PRT, straight away. Somebody's got to do something about this."

Shamus clucked her tongue in irritation.

"You're not seeing the big picture," she said. "Funny. I would've thought a solo operator like yourself would be a lot quicker to put things together."

"Enlighten me with your vast wisdom," Circus said, tapping her foot. I adjusted my grip on my flashlight.

"The Empire's looking to take over all of Brockton, down to the very last miserable garbage-filled alley," Shamus said. "Where in the picture do you think that leaves you? You love what the solo life gives you, the freedom, the ability to go through your day without having to kiss some leader's self-important ass. Once the Empire finally crushes the ABB and pushes back the Protectorate, they're not going to tolerate any independent operators. Best case, they run your technicolor ass out of the city. Worst case, you get press-ganged and they give you a nice swastika brand."

Circus snorted.

"Like I give a damn about any of that," she said. "I make my money now. If the goose-steppers take over, I'll take my generously padded bank account and move somewhere else. Brockton can burn to the ground for all I care."

It did not seem like she was going for it. I tensed myself to spring for cover.

"Well, now, ain't that a shame," Shamus drawled in her best hard-boiled accent, and sprang for cover, flipping over a magazine-laden table and diving behind it.

My bugs boiled up from every available crack, vent, and opening, already in motion as soon as Shamus had used our pre-arranged code phrase to signal that we'd have to jump Circus. A vicious sneer cut across Circus's face as she blurred into motion. Even with advance warning, I barely reached the shelter of the far doorframe before knives began to fly.

A pair of extraordinarily sharp knives thwacked into the wood of the doorjamb, mere inches from my left shoulder. The steel of the blades shone as the knives quivered in the wood. My stomach roiled at the thought of how close they'd come, and I fervently prayed that I hadn't imagined the knife-proof qualities of my costume. Shamus swore, very audibly, as a third knife slammed into her table. The wood cracked apart under the impact.

I blinked. Circus had pirouetted into an elegant somersault jump with effortless grace. She seemed to hang suspended in the air for the shortest of breaths. The additional knives she flicked at Shamus quickly put paid to that illusion, however. Shamus had warned me about Circus's preternatural poise, of course, but it truly had to be seen to be believed.

Circus rolled on landing and came up mere feet from me, following the motion through with a lunge in my direction. She now held a brutal iron sledgehammer in both hands, having plucked it seemingly out of thin air, no doubt with her pocket-dimension power. Shamus had called this kind of cape a 'grab-bag'. I already hated them.

I grabbed my steel brute of a flashlight in both hands and slammed it into the haft of the hammer to parry the blow. My plan failed to account for the hammer vanishing at the last second, leaving me to stumble forward with unexpected momentum while Circus whirled to my side, the hammer already rematerialized.

Circus moved so quickly that the whole clash had only taken about two seconds.

I didn't need much more than two seconds. As she raised her arms for another blow, the air buzzed under the beat of thousands of miniature diaphanous wings, and the flying vanguard of my swarm blasted into her face like the jet of a firehose.

Circus actually lost her balance for half a footfall, which presented me with an opening to duck forward in the direction she'd come from. The skritching, writhing carpet of my ground-bound bugs swirled around and over my feet as they rushed for Circus. The villainess opened her mouth to swear, no doubt reflexively. I capitalized on the opportunity to give her a mouthful of segmented carapace as I scooped up my fire extinguisher. Circus's eyes bulged with fury. She attempted another jump, but stumbled as my bugs wrapped countless cables of spider silk around her ankles.

I took cover behind the far doorframe. Shamus gave me a thumbs-up from behind her table as she groped for her own extinguisher. She was clearly valiantly attempting to suppress at least a mild queasiness from the unrelenting flood of insects.

As the hobble around Circus's ankles drew tighter, her hammer vanished once more. She swept her arms up to her mouth, produced a pair of some sort of cans, and blew.

A thunderclap of heat roared outwards as a tremendous belch of flame exploded from Circus's mouth. The pinpricks of awareness from every bug I'd stuffed into her mouth or crawled onto her face winked out all at once, crisped by the inferno. "Bugs?" Circus yelled. "Jesus, you're kidding me!" She spun in a circle, spewing fire as she went. The flame swept back and forth in a blistering helix, annihilating my swarm. Even on the other side of the room, I could feel the heat buffeting me through my costume. With all she'd done so far, I half-expected her to shoot laser beams out of her eyes next.

As my swarm disintegrated under the flame, Shamus and I leveled our extinguishers at the inferno, pulled the safety pins, and blasted away. Thick, whitish-blue foam streamed across the room and snuffed out the fire, including the flames now licking their way up the walls. We _had_ been paid to prevent crippling damage to the clinic, after all.

Circus choked on a heaping mouthful of the extinguishing spray as she attempted to summon up more fire. I took the opportunity to constitute my second wave of bugs. Shamus tossed me her stun gun, then resumed spraying down Circus. I snatched the stun gun out of the air, left my extinguisher for Shamus, and charged forward.

While discussing the plan over dinner, we'd both agreed that we would have to take Circus down fast, or not at all. Shamus didn't think Circus would allow much of a window to pry her open mentally, and neither of us could hold our own in close combat with her.

So, that led to me sprinting at a foamy, bug-covered Circus with a compact black stun gun in my right hand, while I vectored my second wing of flying reserves into an unrelenting assault on her eyeballs, forcing her to keep them shut. Foam spattered across my back and into my hair. A small gob splatted onto my mask, and obscured the corner of my right eye lens.

Circus loomed in my vision. Eyes still shut, she flicked another pair of silver stilettos down the direction of the foam stream. One of the knives scraped past my leg, but failed to pierce the fabric. It hurt, but didn't bleed. Behind me, Shamus yelped, and the foam cut off. I didn't have time to think about that. I kicked at Circus's legs, followed her down to the ground, and jabbed the stun gun home into her neck, my thumb depressing the activation stud.

Circus jerked and shuddered. Her hammer, an aerosol can, and several metal trinkets I couldn't place materialized and clattered to the floor around her. She went still, and her head lolled to one side. Foam had so thoroughly covered her costume that I could barely make out her mask. Her suit's messy, vibrant patchwork of colors had disappeared under a caking of white powder, like a tremendous bag of flour had been upended over her head.

Satisfied that Circus was fully unconscious, I set my remaining bugs to trussing her with lengths of spider silk as I hurried back to check on Shamus. A spate of energetic cursing eased my worries as to whether the injury was serious.

Shamus had pulled the dagger from her leg, and sat staring at it. The blade dripped scarlet onto the surrounding tile. A small puddle of blood had formed underneath it.

"That bitch," she said, a snarl on her face. "I'm going to tase her again, for my own fun this time."

I held onto the gun.

"Medically, I can't recommend that. It could damage her nervous system."

Shamus sighed. "Oh, fine," she said. "I don't like it, but I'll live with it." She gestured to a door down the hall. "Be a doll and get the duct tape from that supply closet, would you? We need to gag her mouth so she can't cough fire all over us and make an escape."

I retrieved a roll of thick gray duct tape from the closet, as well as some gauze, disinfectant, and bandages. Shamus had gingerly eased back to her feet, and grinned viciously as she tore off several strips of the tape and layered them over Circus's still-inert form. By now, her wrists and ankles had each been firmly roped together with lengths of spider silk.

I handed back Shamus's stun gun.

"Take a seat over there," I said, pointing to the waiting room. "I'll treat the cut."

Shamus eyed the bottle of disinfectant, winced, then nodded. "I hope I'm not making a habit of needing to be patched up, but thanks," she said.

"When it comes to you getting cut, I may be a bad influence," I said. "Sorry about that."

Shamus waved away my apology. "It's not a good case unless the detective gets beaten to a pulp, right?" she said.

I cleaned and dressed the cut. While I was no expert on lacerations, the wound didn't look serious to me. The cut was shallow, and the bleeding relatively minimal.

"How does that feel now?" I asked.

"I'll feel that alcohol swab for a week, but otherwise, just dandy," Shamus said. "You're a pro." She cast a rueful look at the drooping gash in her apparently very expensive silk trousers. "Maybe it's time for me to think about going knifeproof too. I don't suppose I could hire you to make me a suit?"

"Happily," I said. "I don't know if my tailoring skills are up to the challenge, though. That's a really nice suit."

"I have faith in your sartorial ability," Shamus said as she rummaged about in her pockets. "Y'know, I should connect you with Parian. She'd probably trip over herself to have access to spider silk as a design material. Could be a nice second income for you."

"Parian?" I asked. She had to be a local cape, but the name didn't ring a bell.

"She's a local rogue. Limited telekinesis that lets her manipulate cloth and needles. Keeps to herself, mostly, but you're bound to run into her sooner or later. She's planning on unmasking and using the publicity to go pro as a big-time fashion designer. Oh, she hasn't told anyone that, so don't bring it up."

"Does she know she's planning that?" I said.

Shamus snorted. "Flattering, but even I'll admit I'm not _that _good." She retrieved her phone from a pocket, took one look at its shattered screen, and groaned. "I knew that knife didn't cut as deep as it should've."

"You didn't know until just now? Are you slipping?"

"I was forcing myself not to use my power. Call it willful denial. Well, that's another trip to the convenience store for a burner. Do me a favor and call New Wave, would you? I put their number in your phone. Let them know we just did their job for them."

"Not the Protectorate?"

"And take the chance that they send Shadow Stalker over here for the pickup? Circus is B-list, and that's local B-list, at best. That's exactly the kind of milk run you'd send the JV team on, and it's just you, me and no witnesses out here. I've been perforated enough for one night."

"Point," I said. With the whirlwind my life had been in the past month or so, I'd almost forgotten that one of the heroes had very nearly used me for target practice. I flipped out my prepaid burner, which I kept in the drawer of my desk between costumed outings, and scrolled to my contacts. Finding the contact labeled "New Wave" proved easy, since the only other contact listed was Shamus. I dialed the number.

They answered on the first ring, of course. "Brandish." Carol's voice was cool, clipped, and confident. I still couldn't believe I'd met her.

"Um, hi," I said. "This is Shamus's partner, the bug girl?" Identifying myself as that felt childish, but what else could I say? I still didn't have a name.

"Of course," Carol said. "What can I do for you?"

"Shamus and I were hired to halt the string of clinic arsons downtown. We just caught Circus in the act and apprehended her. She's unconscious and restrained, no serious injuries. We were hoping you could arrange pickup."

"My pleasure. Good work taking her out. The PRT will be relieved to hear that they've got one less villain to deal with. Is your location secure? I can have Glory Girl and Laserdream there in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, I think so," I said. "Shamus is confident Circus was acting alone, and we've tied her up pretty thoroughly." I gave Carol the address. "We'll wait for your team here. Thank you for the help."

"Getting somebody like that off the streets is never an inconvenience. If you can, head to the roof, and sit tight. Call me if your situation changes." With that, she ended the call.

"Nice and professional," Shamus said. "Maybe you should be our receptionist, too." She looked at the still-prone form of Circus. "Looks like she's more sensitive to a suddenly-applied electrical shock than average. She'll be out for at least another thirty minutes, so Glory Girl and Laserdream should have plenty of time. Now, how are we going to get her up to the roof?"

Sometimes I had to remind myself that Shamus wasn't actually eavesdropping on my calls.

A quick look back in the supply closet revealed a janitor's cart. We unloaded the heaps of cleaning products, and wheeled it into the hallway, where we each grabbed hold of one end of Circus and together heaved her atop the dark gray plastic cart. Shamus snickered as Circus's masked face thwacked onto the rim of the cart. She'd undoubtedly tossed her end of Circus there on purpose.

Following Shamus's directions, I wheeled the cart down the hallway, which now resembled the aftermath of a PRT police action more than the interior of a health clinic. White extinguisher residue crusted over walls, their surfaces scored with deep black scorches. Knives jutted out of the overturned table. Thousands of deep-fried bugs littered the floor, like they'd been washed up on a tide of foam. The cart crunched as it rolled over my fallen soldiers.

"Don't worry, they can't complain about the damage," Shamus said. "Well, too much, anyways. Thanks to us, they'll be complaining from inside four sturdy walls and a nice roof, instead of a heap of smoldering embers."

"I'm sure you're right," I said as we arrived at the door to the rooftop, located in the back of the clinic.

"Hon, I'm always right," Shamus said, the familiar twinkle in her eyes. "And if they stubbornly refuse to recognize that, I'll win them over with my trademark charm."

Once again, I counted myself very lucky to not be on the receiving end of that 'charm'. Shamus unlocked the door with her Tinkertech skeleton key, and we dragged Circus off the cart and into the stairway. After a few minutes of muscling her up several flights of stairs, we arrived at the landing, pushed upon the rooftop door, and hauled our still-unconscious captive out onto the gravel surface. I'd heard in my first aid class about the difficulty of shifting an unconscious person, but hauling a body as inert as a sack of potatoes up a staircase drove that lesson home in a way a class never could.

Shamus sprawled onto the concrete to take pressure off her leg. I set my bugs to securing Circus's bonds with an additional layer of silk. Beyond us, the glass and metal of Downtown's heart stretched towards the sky. Skyscrapers shone like beacons in the inky darkness of the night sky.

My thoughts leaped back to my flight above nighttime Brockton with New Wave. Having seen the city from the air thoroughly reframed my perspective of my home. Moments like these made it easier to see Brockton for what it could be-something bigger, something _more. _ Not than the crime-ridden sinkhole we all currently waded through.

I shook my head. Fantasizing about some brighter future would only waste time in the here and now.

"I have to admit, it's a pretty sight," Shamus said quietly. "You can't see the grime nearly as easily from up here."

"But it's still there," I said.

"Hey, we're superhuman, not miracle workers," she said. "We've got our own problems to deal with, right?" She checked her expensive-looking wristwatch. Like everything else in her outfit, it looked like it'd fallen through a rift from 1947. "Our genetically blessed cavalry should be arriving momentarily."

As if on cue, Glory Girl and Laserdream dropped out of the sky in front of us. They plummeted in a synchronized vertical plunge, which braked at the last possible moment into a feather-light touchdown about fifteen feet away.

Sure, they were showing off, but I was still impressed. I saw Shamus roll her eyes.

With Laserdream following, Glory Girl crossed the distance to us in a few confident strides. Her cape billowed out behind her in the cool nighttime breeze, and her tiara glowed a burnished reddish-gold in the light of a nearby rooftop light. Even with a costume woven from spider silk, I couldn't help but feel shabby around her. Maybe I needed less gray.

"You rang?" Laserdream said.

"Evening, ladies," Shamus said. She jostled Circus with a foot. "Package for you. No need to handle her delicately." She rubbed her wounded leg, then sneered. "In fact, I'd take it as a favor if you made sure to bang her up a little."

"I'm impressed you took her out without worse injuries," Glory Girl said. "Circus is no joke, even if she dresses like one. Do you need a doctor? We might be able to arrange for you to see Panacea."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Shamus said. She thumbed at me. "My accomplice already patched me up. I'd get up and dance right now if it wasn't so comfortable here on the gravel."

Glory Girl looked at me. "You still haven't picked a name, have you? You'll be lucky to escape from this whole escapade without some reporter deciding to get his fifteen minutes of fame by saddling you with an awful one. My mom had to step in to stop the paper from running one they wanted, and believe me, you wouldn't have liked it."

"She's right, you know," Laserdream chimed in. "You _really_ don't want to end up like my mom."

"It's silly, but I just can't think of one," I said. "Most bug-themed names make me sound like some deranged villain who makes a living off raiding drug dealers."

Glory Girl laughed.

"I guess it's easy for me to say," she said. "But still, now's the time. You don't want to pick up a paper tomorrow and see a headline about 'Centipede Woman'."

No, I most certainly did not.

Glory Girl beamed. "Hey, what about Ladybug, or Flutter? You know, like butterfly? I'm pretty sure neither of those are taken."

"Vic, you are such a geek," Laserdream drawled. She bent to check on Circus.

"No offense, but aren't those a little silly?" I said.

"Honestly, you probably want a little silly," she said. "You've got a really cool power, but it'll ick some people out a bit. That's not your fault, but you'll still have to deal with it. A lighter name makes you seem less scary, more approachable."

I mulled it over for a moment. Names were important, but to be honest, I'd never found the idea of what to name myself particularly engrossing. I wasn't doing this to see myself in the headlines, and I certainly didn't expect to see my mask on any merchandise.

"You can tell your mom that I'm called Flutter," I said. "Thanks for the help."

Glory Girl smiled. "Good choice! You won't regret it. If you ever need any advice on cape PR, reach out to me, okay? It's more important than most people think."

"In case you hadn't noticed, she's way too obsessed with this stuff," Laserdream said. She gave Glory Girl an affectionate nudge. "The whole point of having superpowers is that you don't have to live vicariously through reading about them."

"You know I just helped you do your hair before patrol, right? You've got Mom and I managing your image. Of course you don't have to worry about it."

Shamus wagged a finger, a disapproving scowl on her face.

"No poaching my partner! She's already got an agent."

"I appreciate the advice, Glory Girl," I said. "Thank you for agreeing to pick up Circus."

Glory Girl scooped Circus up into a fireman's carry as easily as though she were made of feathers, not flesh and bone. She flashed me a smile.

"We're always happy to help take out the trash," she said.

Shamus hefted herself to her feet, clearly favoring her injured leg, and flicked Circus in the center of her colorful mask. Unsurprisingly, she didn't stir.

"You've got about ten minutes before our friendly sack of potatoes here wakes up," Shamus said. "Probably best to get moving. Even tied up like this, she could do some damage if she wakes up midair."

Glory Girl grinned.

"Yeah, I know about the pyrokinesis. Won't be a problem. Threatening to drop someone from two hundred feet up usually does wonders to quiet them down," she said. "Don't be a stranger if you see us around, okay? In costume or out. Good luck out there, Flutter." She stepped off the ledge and rose into the air. Laserdream waved and followed.

Once they were out of earshot, Shamus chuckled.

"God, I hate it whenever they fly around like it's nothing," she said. "After all, there's nobody who _just_ flies, right? It's always 'My power is such-and-such, and oh, I guess I can fly, too.' What's up with that?"

"It does seem unfair, but I don't think there's a complaints desk for superpowers," I said.

"More's the pity," Shamus said. "Oh, I'd have a field day with it if there were."

"I'm sure you would," I said. "Can we consider this case closed?"

Shamus rubbed her chin.

"I'd say so. Circus works alone, and the Empire doesn't want to go after these clinics in the open, at least for now. I'll let the director know that he can expect this place to remain comfortably unburnt for the immediate future. Tomorrow works for dinner, by the way."

I blinked, momentarily taken aback.

"Huh?"

"For dinner," she repeated. "Your dad wanted me to come over for dinner, right? I'm free tomorrow." She winked. "You know I hate to beg."

"It's still a little creepy when you do that," I said. She'd explained exactly how her power worked to me, with particular emphasis that it wasn't mind-reading, but it certainly still felt like mind-reading sometimes.

"Sorry. Even when I'm trying to keep it in check, stuff filters in sometimes. You don't cook, huh? That makes two of us."

"But you've got that whole high-end kitchen. You don't use it at all?"

"Appearances are everything! Why stay cooped up in my place and cook when I can hit the streets, get some conversation, and avoid doing any work? And yes, I like Chinese."

I hauled myself back to mental balance. "It's a date, then," I said. "I'll let my dad know. He's been trying to get you over for at least a week, but you probably already know that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't dream of saying," Shamus said. "Good, honest all-American working man. He sounds like a good dad."

I smiled to hear him described in those larger-than-life terms.

"He is," I said. "It was tough for a while, with the bullying, but things are better now. Thank you."

Shamus waved a hand.

"You're the one who zapped Shadow Stalker, hon," she said. "I haven't seen my organs, but I imagine they look a lot better on the inside, where you kept them."

We made our way down off the roof.


	15. Stakeout 3-5

I set the last of the glasses on the dining room table, and quickly filled them with water from the pitcher in the center of the table. I'd assured my dad that Lisa wouldn't be expecting anything fancy, but he'd still felt compelled to dig out one of Mom's old tablecloths and drape it over the scuffed-up stained brown wood of the table. The yellow-flower print of the tablecloth had faded with age, but still dressed up the room adequately enough. I'd laid out plates and napkins. The whole array felt slightly unnatural. I couldn't remember the last time we'd made an even remotely formal attempt at a meal. Dad usually didn't have the patience for that stuff, and I'd taken my example from him.

Dad lifted cartons of steaming-hot Chinese food from the takeout bag and plunked them down in the center of the table. After doing so, he seemed to have second thoughts.

"Is Lisa the type to run late?" he said. "If so, I'll keep the food in the bag. Wouldn't want her meal to get cold."

"I'd leave it out," I said. "She's almost ridiculously punctual."

"That's a sign of good character," he said. I rolled my eyes.

"Dad, we're teenagers. 'Character' is something old people complain we don't have enough of."

He laughed. "Better watch who you're calling old," he said. "I've still got a few years left in me."

A whirl of displaced air buffeted the bugs I'd left hovering on the front path as someone, undoubtedly Lisa, made their way up to the door. A slight feeling of unease tingled in my stomach. Lisa was a friend, and I certainly didn't have to worry about her misreading the situation and accidentally giving away more information than she should've, but mixing my cape life and my home life still felt like a disaster waiting to happen. There was no earthly way Dad would ever be okay with me going out as a cape, but I wouldn't give it up, either. If the secret somehow got out and things came to a head, I didn't know how I'd handle it.

I breathed in deep. Those questions, I could worry about another time. Fretting over some overdramatic hypothetical wouldn't do me any good.

"Don't worry, Taylor, I promise I can make it through a dinner without embarrassing you in front of your friend," Dad said with a smile.

"I'll be the judge of that," I said. He'd mistaken the cause of my worry, but I was still glad he'd noticed. As for what he'd said, the prospect of parentally-induced humiliation didn't concern me very much. If you can face down a knife-wielding pyromaniac alongside someone, the little things don't seem quite as important.

The soft chime of the doorbell rang out. I stepped over to open the door. "Heya," Lisa said. Of course, she hadn't shown up in her trenchcoat. She wore a cheerily colorful shirt, over which she'd tossed a dark spring jacket, complemented by a factory-stressed pair of skinny jeans. She looked every inch the civilian.

"Mmmm, I smell Chinese. Mind if I invite myself in?" she said. She stepped inside, and patted her stomach. "I've been working up an appetite all day, just for this."

"You may be disappointed," I said.

"Hah! Not a chance. The greasier and smellier, the better. Just watch me." She turned towards Dad. "Oh, you must be Mr. Hebert!" she said, breaking out what she'd no doubt call one of her best smiles. "Thanks for having me over. You guys have a lovely house."

Dad smiled, and returned Lisa's wave. "Our pleasure, Lisa. Thanks for joining us. It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Lisa said. "I'd curtsey, but that looks kinda weird in jeans."

Dad laughed. "This isn't that kind of house, anyways," he said. "Right, Taylor?"

"I think I read about curtseying in a book once," I said. "C'mon, let's sit down."

After sitting and heaping our plates with food, we promptly dug in. Soon came the question I'd been dreading.

"So, Lisa," my dad asked, "you go to Arcadia too?

Lisa's smile was utterly without guile, which, of course, spoke to the sheer amount of guile she had brought to bear.

"Yup, you betcha," she said. "Taylor landed in a couple of my classes when she transferred over, and I can never resist bugging the new people. I'm incurably curious."

My dad laughed. "Arcadia seems like a great school," he said. "I'm very grateful that Taylor managed to transfer out of Winslow. The staff there-well, it wouldn't be polite to say what I think of them with you two around."

"Bureaucrats get away with murder," Lisa said. "And those are only the lowest of low-level public servants. Imagine what the higher-ups in the PRT have covered up. That'd be enough skeletons to fill an entire buildingful of closets."

"I'd like to think that if they do keep those kinds of secrets, it's for good reason," I said.

"Me too," Dad said. "They are the good guys, after all. We've got no choice but to trust them, as far as I can see it."

Lisa waved a hand. "Don't let me pollute your minds. I was already a cynic when I came out of the womb, and honestly, it's only gotten worse since. I'm probably the most jaded person in the whole city by a mile."

"Maybe I should have you sit in on my union negotiations," my dad said with a chuckle. "You've got to be a born cynic to walk out of talks with the shipping companies in one piece. It gets ugly in there."

"Oooh, I love a good verbal sparring session," Lisa said. "You have to hone your repartee to keep it sharp, right? Maybe I should go into organized labor when I graduate."

"You'd be wasted on a bunch of knuckle-draggers like us," Dad said. "Take it from me, Lisa, the local's not what it used to be. Too many of my guys have signed on with the Empire already. I'd like to tell myself that it's purely mercenary, so they can put food on the table, but a lot of people struggling to make ends meet find the us-versus-them rhetoric compelling. My guys sense that prospects now are worse for them than they used to be, and that gets some of them searching for someone to blame." He sighed. "Makes it awfully hard to convince them that they're throwing in with the wrong guys. A few more years, and the Empire may have hollowed out the local completely."

My dad had mentioned somebody he knew joining up with Empire Eighty-Eight from time to time, but I hadn't realized that things were crumbling to the point he'd described. Had he not mentioned it, or had I, distracted by all my own problems, simply not been paying attention? I honestly didn't know.

"Brockton Bay still has a lot of heroes," I said. "Do you think the Empire has the ability to take over completely? I have to imagine that there'd be a response from the Protectorate before things got that bad."

"You're probably right, Taylor," my dad said. "Sorry, kids, I shouldn't be prognosticating during dinner. You've got enough to worry about with your schoolwork."

"Oh, I don't mind," Lisa said. "I like to stay informed. I guess you could call me kind of a news junkie. I have to agree with you, Mr. Hebert. The Protectorate may send in more heroes, but they can't appeal to people's wallets the same way the Empire can. What's worse, they can't appeal to that resentment, either. The heroes can catch some villains and lock them up, but if they lose the support of the public, they lose the city. Kaiser may be a scumbag, but he's an oily scumbag. He knows that if he keeps the real die-hard Nazis in line enough, he's got a good chance at winning over the people who normally wouldn't care enough to back him."

Dad blinked.

"You should think about journalism instead of organized labor, Lisa," he said. "That's a better summary of the situation than I've heard out of half the stuffed shirts on TV. Arcadia must be doing something right."

"Lisa's sort of an outlier," I said. "But school is a step up from Winslow."

"I'm a lucky guesser," Lisa said. "There's nothing else to it. Pardon me, but I'm going to stuff my face with this eggroll." She plucked a prodigious golden-brown egg roll off its platter with her chopsticks and bit into it with a ferocious crunch. I made a mental note to see if she could teach me how to use chopsticks. My dad was as hopeless with them as I was, and no matter how many online tutorials I read, I could never get the things quite right.

The rest of dinner passed fairly uneventfully. Thankfully, we managed to keep any discussion of Arcadia focused on what I was doing there, rather than Lisa, and her parents didn't come up. After dinner, Lisa and I retreated upstairs to my room. The blare of an evening action movie emanated from the living room as we headed up the stairs, for which I was grateful, as it meant I didn't have to worry about Dad accidentally hearing any talk about powers. Having to suppress any mention of it had been hard enough in his presence. I doubted my ability to hold back from talking about cape business in private, and I doubted even more Lisa's ability to avoid the subject.

"So, this is it!" Lisa exclaimed as she crossed the threshold into my bedroom. "The lair of the notorious Taylor Hebert, unveiled at last. What a scoop!"

"It's really only a normal bedroom," I said. "I wouldn't recommend expecting to find anything interesting in here. Your place is way nicer."

"Sure, but this room has history," Lisa said. "Which is something that my apartment, while admittedly decorated with impeccable taste, sorely lacks. Places like this, that someone's molded into their own space and settled into it, can tell you so much more about a person." She flopped down on the bed. "Not that I'm using my power now, of course," she said. "No snooping on partners, after all. But you get what I'm saying, right? A new apartment doesn't have any memory."

"I think I do understand," I said. "Some of the furniture in here is almost as old as I am, and I know I've still got a few toys from when I was five stashed away in here somewhere."

"Exactly," Lisa said. "The way somebody furnishes a new place tells you a lot too, but rooms like this are like diaries. You can trace someone's entire life story."

I raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you're reading my diary?"

"I'm trying really hard not to," Lisa said. "Scout's honor. But I did mean what I said about off switches, in more ways than one. My power doesn't so much turn on as it gets temporarily suppressed through sheer force of will. You can't not be aware of your bugs, right? It's the same deal for me. I don't think anyone whose powers have some kind of mental component can ever truly choose to simply turn them off, any more than we could turn off trying to breathe. Getting your brain rewired is no joke."

While listening to Lisa, I adjusted the position of the gnat I'd placed on the cuff of my dad's jeans. He hadn't moved from the chair, but his stretch had almost squished it. "I see your point," I said. "It's strange that I can do so many things at once, isn't it? To me, it feels as natural as breathing, but it must require active brainpower, right?"

"Please, no more tantalizing theories!" Lisa said. "I'm barely holding off a migraine as it is. I need to stuff my power down for a while longer. Once the pain recedes, I'm your girl. But have mercy for now, I'm begging you."

"If I have to," I said. I decided to broach the subject which had occupied my thoughts for most of the evening. "About earlier.."

Lisa quirked an eyebrow. "C'mon, spit it out," she said. "I'm only psychic when I want to be. Or, more accurately, I'm only not psychic when I want to be. You get the idea. Now, shoot."

"We stopped Circus, and I'm happy about that, don't get me wrong," I said. "But, like you said, she was just the Empire's pawn, wasn't she? It's not like they've got any shortage of muscle, cape or otherwise, to apply in their favor. If they want the clinics under their control, I have a hard time believing that they can't simply make it happen, Circus or no Circus. Did stopping her actually make any kind of difference?"

Lisa's sigh was good-natured, but freighted. "First, while I applaud your forward thinking, c'mon, lighten up! We just racked up our third consecutive successful case, and we still have all our digits attached." She waggled her right hand. "That's no small feat, you know." A ruminative tone crept into her voice, and her expression grew more serious. "You're a big girl, so I'm not going to lie to you. Frankly, if Kaiser wants to take over Downtown, he will. Like you said, the Empire has the size and willpower to muscle a whole conglomerate out of the city, if they wanted to. A couple rinky-dink non-profits don't have a snowball's chance in hell of hanging in there. I'm sorry I can't provide a better prognosis, but I have to call it how I see it."

"Doesn't that make this seem a bit futile?" I said. "I mean, if the stormtroopers will march in and take things over anyways. Was it worth all the effort?"

Lisa shrugged.

"I'm a parahuman, not a philosopher, and my power doesn't do those kinds of questions," she said. "Admittedly, and you probably don't need me to tell you this, but I'm a lot more cynical than you when it comes to questions of the common good, or helping your fellow man. We were hired to do a job, and we did it. With aplomb, I might add. If Krieg levels that place two months from now, that's a shame, but at least it wasn't today, right? We've done our part."

"I'd like to subscribe to that outlook, but I can't seem to shake the feeling that I could be doing more," I said. "That director and his staff are trying to make a difference in this city. How can I accept that they might inevitably get killed or run out of town by neo-Nazis?"

"If you don't pick your battles, you end up losing all of them," Lisa said. "We can make a difference in places the Protectorate might not - you've already seen that, more than once - but not even Eidolon can save everyone. Dwelling on what could've or should've been is a good way to drive yourself completely nuts."

"You're probably right," I said. "Sorry for the unsolicited morality introspective. Maybe it'll get easier with time."

"Take it from me, it does," Lisa said. A sad smile played across her face for a moment. "In the meantime, we're young and we've got superpowers. It could be worse, right?"

"It could and has been," I said. "I'll be okay. I've got some stuff to sort through, that's all."

I deliberately steered the conversation back to a less serious topic. Lisa undoubtedly noticed my redirection, but had the good grace to flow with it. We chatted for a while longer before Lisa took her leave. She stepped off into the night with a smile and a wave.

"I like her," my dad said after I closed the door behind her. "You can have her over any time."

"Thanks for providing the seal of approval, Dad," I said.

"And I didn't even embarrass you once, did I?" he said. His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "How's that for impressive?"

I shook my head with over-exaggerated mournfulness and headed upstairs.

A quick change and brush of my teeth later, and I was in bed. As I lay there, my mind drifted back to the concerns I'd voiced to Lisa earlier. I realized I'd started to think of Lisa as not only just someone who'd given me a helping hand, but also a friend. That in and of itself felt rather surreal, given that the wounds of my social ostracization had barely healed over. With the change in my perception of our dynamic, though, came the realization that I still knew essentially nothing about her personal life. Where her parents were, how she'd ended up in Brockton, her trigger event - they all coagulated together into a swirling fog of mystery.

I'd spent enough time with Lisa to guess that if I reached for that fog, it'd evaporate at the slightest brush of my fingertips. There was no teasing information out of Lisa in a conversation, and if she'd wanted to tell me the details, she already would've. All in all, my ignorance left me feeling at somewhat of a disadvantage in what I dared to hope she saw as our friendship. After all, we'd only met because I'd exposed the bleeding wounds in my life while begging for her assistance. Thanks to her power, her research, or both, she knew what'd I'd lost, what I'd been put through, even my trigger event. I couldn't keep real secrets from her, but she held plenty away from me.

A sudden surge of guilt welled up inside me, and I tried to banish my train of thought. Yes, there was a lot I didn't know about Lisa, but that hardly mattered right now. What I did know was that at my lowest moment, one where even beating the one-in-thousands odds of getting superpowers hadn't enabled me to turn my life around, she'd been there to yank me out of the hellhole my life had become. That counted for far more than any misguided worries I had over what she might not be telling me.

I turned out the light, and drifted away to sleep, wondering what kind of case would come our way next.


	16. Substitute 4-1

**A/N:**  
This arc will feature a "guest cape", Yomiko Readman from Read or Die, in a sort of mini-crossover. For those unfamiliar with the series, no knowledge of it is required, as Taylor will remain the PoV throughout, and Yomiko is the only crossover character to appear. In PRT terms, I'd call her a ~Master 6 "paperbender", for lack of a better word. Given how perfectly her power fits into Worm's, I always wondered how she'd do in the Wormverse, so I couldn't help but inject her here. Rest assured that you can still expect other Worm characters to make appearances in this arc as well!

* * *

Another Tuesday morning, another English class. Even after my morning coffee-two coffees, if I was being honest-I only felt about fifty percent human. I'd let myself stay out way too late roaming the streets with Lisa, and now, I was paying the price. Well, it was worth it.

I pushed aside the mental fog sat and up in my seat as a woman I didn't recognize pushed through the door to the classroom. She looked to be in her late 20s, with an owlish expression behind her thick rectangular black glasses. Long, straight black hair spilled down past her shoulders to her back. She was dressed rather oddly for a teacher, and wore a long, light tan trench coat over a brown vest and a white dress shirt with a vivid red tie. A dark skirt covered her legs past her knees.

The oddest thing about her, though, was that she'd made her way into the classroom while completely absorbed by a book that she held in her right hand. She'd even opened the door with her left hand without glancing up. She closed the door behind her, then stood at the front of the classroom, utterly engrossed in the book. She'd flicked through twenty or thirty pages before somebody a few rows behind me finally cleared their throat.

The woman jolted and tore herself away from the book, stuffing it into a pocket at her side. She looked up at us, blinking, like a deer caught in the headlights. There was a faintly Japanese cast to her features, but when she spoke, it was in elegant Queen's English.

"Er, sorry about that!" she said. "The protagonist's husband was just kidnapped, and she-never mind. I'm Ms. Readman. I'll be your substitute teacher while Mr. Peyren is out."

She turned away, picked up a dry-erase marker, and began to write her name on the whiteboard. I noted with some bemusement that she'd retrieved the novel with her other hand and had begun reading again while she wrote.

"Ms. Readman, we can't read Japanese," someone said.

"Oh! Yes! Excuse me," she said. She hastily erased the Japanese characters she'd written on the board and scrabbled out her name in English. She turned back to us, the novel falling to her side.

Between the outfit, the singled-minded fixation on her novel, and her accent, she had to be the most bizarre substitute I'd ever seen, which was really saying a lot.

"Ah, what will we be discussing today?" she said. At first, since she was the teacher, I assumed the question was rhetorical, but she just stood there blinking, with that same befuddled look.

"Don't you know?" a classmate asked. Others snickered. Once a substitute showed weakness, you could always rely on students to pounce, like hyenas circling a wounded lion. This woman had set herself up to fail.

Her face fell.

"I forgot to take the lesson plan with me," she admitted. Undoubtedly because she'd been engrossed in her book. More students were choking back laughs now. I decided to take pity on her, and spoke up.

"We were going to discuss _The Great Gatsby_," I said.

Her face brightened.

"Oh, thank you!" she said. "What a lovely book. But it's been so long since I've read it…"

She appeared to search her memory for a few moments, then beamed and clapped her hands together.

"Now I remember! How wonderful!"

Belying her seeming confusion of a moment before, she launched into a monologue about the novel whose verbosity was rivaled only by its interminable length. By the twentieth minute of the verbal torrent, even those who had laughed at first sat reeling in their seats, mouths agape.

Forty minutes later, the harsh electronic screech of the bell cut her off mid-sentence. Somehow, she hadn't paused for more than a moment the entirety of the class. At some point, she had even managed to produce a copy of the book itself, and had brandished it like a weapon at the students in the front rows.

She looked up at the clock, blinking, her face crestfallen. "Oh dear, is it that time already?"

My classmates rose to their feet and filed out in dead silence, no doubt still attempting to process the literary bludgeoning they had just received. While I also found Ms. Readman's bibliophilic sermon somewhat overwhelming, particularly in regards to a piece of assigned reading, I had to respect her enthusiasm.

I slung my bag to my shoulder and walked out with the others. I gave a faint smile to Ms. Readman as I went. It turned out I needn't have bothered, as she had already glued herself back to her book. I hurried on my way, a rueful smile on my face. Yes, she certainly was the most unique substitute I'd ever met.

The rest of the day passed utterly uneventfully by comparison, and at the ring of the closing bell, I was off like a rocket. During my usual lunchtime PHO check, I'd seen that Lisa had messaged me to say we had a new case, but being Lisa, hadn't offered any details. She derived far too much enjoyment from keeping other people in suspense.

As I hurried across the blocks of Downtown to our office, the heartbeat of the city pulsed around me. Towering skyscrapers bathed in the heat of the afternoon sun as they stretched towards the heavens. At their base, glittering glass atriums disgorged streams of immaculately-suited men and women heading for either a late lunch or an early end to the workday. Cars and trucks of every description clogged the roads in a discordant symphony of growling engines, screeching brakes and blaring horns. What they hoped honking might accomplish wasn't entirely clear, but they were no less enthusiastic for it.

A brisk stride carried me through the congested heart of the corporate business district in good time. I passed the last of the skyscrapers, hurried across the street just in advance of a lumbering delivery truck, and arrived in front of our office.

I'll admit, thinking of it as 'our' office still felt a bit odd. The events of the past month or so had transformed my life so abruptly as to leave it almost unrecognizable. Why Lisa had gone so far out of her way to help me I still couldn't say. She'd become a friend to me-my only one, sadly enough, but I tried not to dwell on that-but I didn't need her power to tell that she'd deliberately avoided exposing much about her prior life. That left me at a disadvantage, given that there was nothing so futile as trying to keep a secret from her. I couldn't do anything but wait, though, and trust that she'd tell me when she was ready.

I shook the introspective thoughts from my mind, and made for the office. It sat at the bottom of a stairwell which descended from the cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The stairwell ended at the foot of an unmarked metal door. Frosted glass obscured the view from outside, and, in a desultory gesture towards what Lisa liked to call 'operational security', we did _not _have a sign marking the office door. Other than that, anybody who knew the office's location could just walk in.

So, walk in I did. I pulled open the unlocked outer door, then passed into the waiting room. A pair of battered wooden chairs with peeling upholstery sat against opposite walls in an otherwise spartan chamber. Lisa could've afforded far better, of course, but she liked to cast the woe-begotten furniture as another key stone in her carefully cultivated image of the down-on-their-luck private eye. A wooden floor in desperate need of a wash completed the image. On the far side of the room was the inner door. Like the outer one, this too sported a frosted-glass window, upon which had been emblazoned "Shamus, P.I." Lisa loved to correct people that it stood for _Parahuman_ Investigator, not what they always assumed. She'd no doubt had the logo fashioned that way specifically for that little joke.

In what had become habit, I settled my usual living tripwire of bugs across both doors as I swung open the inner one and pulled it shut behind me. The windowless room that we called our office seemed even more chaotic than usual. Lisa sat behind her desk, though I'd discovered this via bug mapping, not my eyes. Towers of paper had been piled up high enough on her desk to completely obstruct the view, especially given that each one had been crowned with a different laptop, making for four separate computers open simultaneously. Even more papers, manila dossiers, and accordion folders lay strewn around her desk in heaps which seemed haphazard to me, but undoubtedly slid perfectly into whichever incomprehensible system of organization Lisa had devised.

My desk, by contrast, sported almost nothing by way of accoutrements. I'd need to scatter some notebooks and pencils on it, for appearances' sake if nothing else. I did notice that my brass nameplate holder now displayed an engraving of my chosen cape name. Having chosen a name didn't leave me feeling much different than before, but I had to readily admit to clipping out the small page-five article in the _Brockton Bay Gazette_ which made reference to a new cape by the name of Flutter helping to apprehend Circus. Keeping the article might be a bit vain, but I felt justified. It was the first real memento of my career, after all.

"Heya, stranger," came Lisa's voice from behind her Great Wall of Paperwork.

"Can you move behind all that?" I asked.

"Barely," she said. "It's a research day, but you could probably already guess that much."

"Research day? What's the occasion?"

Lisa groaned. "I've got a complete mystery on my hands, and it's driving me nuts," she said. "I'm not making any headway at all."

"None whatsoever?" I said. "I bet you're ready to scream."

She grinned.

"The idea has some appeal, but it wouldn't do wonders for my headache," she said. "Better for me to seethe in quiet frustration for now, I think."

"So, what's the case?" I said. "Maybe I can help with some of the thinking for a change. As long as that headache's keeping you grounded, at least."

Lisa's delighted grin belied the amount of pain she purported to be in, but then, she always loved a chance to do some expositing.

"Think Indiana Jones," she said.

I admit, I wasn't entirely sure where she was going with that one.

"Like the Ark of the Covenant? Holy artifacts? What would that have to do with us?"

Lisa waggled a finger. "An excellent question!" she said. "And no, not the Ark of the Covenant, although that does sound like a great deal of fun. I guess you'd call this more of an illuminated manuscript. You know, those elaborate books from the Middle Ages that the monks would spend their whole lives copying in some dank, dreary stone cell. Takes all kinds, I guess."

"So there's some kind of rare book?" I asked. "Is that really something that calls for parahuman assistance? I would've thought they'd just hire a private security firm. Doesn't it seem like a lot of trouble to go through?"

"It raised my eyebrows too, I'll admit. Still, I couldn't pass up the chance to get involved in some genuine intrigue." Lisa beamed. "Especially since they thought they were pulling one over on me! Nobody gets to make Shamus dance like a puppet. And yes, I know I just referred to myself in the third person, but our alter egos are artificial personas anyways, so I can get away with it."

I quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not so sure about that," I said.

"Oh, let me have the convenient delusions, won't you?" Lisa said with a laugh.

"So, something made you think the client was lying to you?" I said, intrigued by what Lisa had said. "And who was our client, anyways?"

"He was an older guy, Chinese, maybe in his 50s. My power twigged on to something he said or did. I'm still not entirely sure what, which I hate to admit." She tapped her forehead. "Hence, the head splitting. I'll figure him out, though. Just wait."

I eyed the tremendous tome on Lisa's desk. Gilded characters in a foreign language adorned its inch-thick leather cover. The language looked to be Chinese or Japanese, I thought, but I wasn't sure which. "Did he come to the office and hand you this? I'd be suspicious too."

"He didn't exactly twirl his mustache and cackle, but he certainly was a bit odd," Lisa said. "Could've been playing the part, though. People try that against Thinkers sometimes, you know. The theory is something like fouling up the input to pollute the output." She scowled. "It does work on me sometimes, which is frustrating as hell."

"It's our secret," I said.

Lisa let out a theatrical sigh. "Everybody wants to read minds, but nobody appreciates what a _headache_ it is," she said. "And that's both figuratively and literally. Some days, I almost wish I was one of the acorn-brained flying bricks throwing people through walls."

"I've had the same thought. It'd make life so much more direct, wouldn't it?"

Lisa smirked.

"Yeah, but then I remember how fun it is to be a world-class sleuth. Bug powers aren't so bad either, right? You've done some incredible stuff these last few cases."

I shrugged. Praise still didn't feel entirely natural.

"I'm glad we've helped people, at least," I said. "That's got to count for something."

Lisa pooh-poohed me with a gentle smile. "So modest. You've saved my ass at least twice already, and trust me, that means a hell of a lot to me. Though I daresay there's a few people very disappointed by my continued existence on our lovely little planet." She tapped an unpainted fingernail on the grimy leather cover of the book. "So, partner, are you in for this one? I doubt it'll involve helping any unfortunate souls, but if you're still interested, it'd be a real relief to have you watching my back while I figure out what's irking me."

I only had to think about it for a moment. Lisa had promised to keep from involving me in anything unsavory, but this hardly seemed to be hurting anyone. If anything, we might have an opportunity to root out somebody with less-than-pure motives before they raised some kind of unspecified havoc in my hometown.

"I'm in," I said.

And then, all hell broke loose.


	17. Substitute 4-2

A miniature tornado of paper erupted inside the office, like an invisible hand had switched on an equally invisible wall-sized industrial-strength fan. My senses went haywire as inexplicably rigid sheets of loose-leaf and printer paper batted my bugs in every direction. More than a few were caught between two sheets of paper and splatted outright. Beside me, Lisa swore violently. I could barely hear her over the whipping of the paper vortex. . The paper flying in every direction completely obscured my vision beyond a few inches in front of my face. I flung a squadron of flies at Lisa in a crazily corkscrewing pattern. A few lucky survivors proved evasive enough to slip through the fluttering deathtrap and alight on Lisa's collar and cuff. If we were under attack, I didn't intend to let anyone grab her without me noticing.

"What-" Lisa grunted as she swatted at paper. "Oh, this is just perfect! I knew that this book case was no good. Rare book collector, my ass!"

I ducked across the room towards her and slid behind her desk, where she'd taken cover from the storm. "So, you think it's related?"

Lisa shot me a derisive look obscured only briefly by another cluster of paper. "C'mon, Flutter, you don't need to be a Thinker to figure that one out!" she said. She snatched a rogue piece of printer paper out of the air and brandished it at me. "Animated paper! It's like they're beating us over the head with it. I must be the world's biggest sap."

Her deliberate switch into our cape names didn't escape my notice. Prudence demanded that we assume our unknown assailant could hear our every word.

"Point taken," I said. I swerved my surviving bugs in the room through the storm, but found nothing but paper. Outside our door, the air felt perfectly calm.

"It's localized to our room," I said. "No sign of the cape controlling this. Can you tell us anything else?"

Shamus squinted at the paper for a moment. "Whoever's doing it doesn't want to seriously injure us," she said. "That paper's been transformed to be as hard and sharp as a steel blade. They could have crucified us right at the start if they'd wanted."

Well, that was a pleasant thought. I tried not to dwell on it. The insanity still swirling around me helped. Shamus grabbed another piece out of the air, glared at it, and groaned. "They're using my dossiers, too! I'm never going to get all this shit organized. God, just kill me." She jutted out her chin and raised her voice. "Because if you don't, I'll cram every last sheet of this down your throat, and that's a promise!"

Suddenly, all of the paper whirled together and crested over us like a tsunami. The sheer force of it swept me away from the desk and into the far wall, where it glommed up to me like a spiderweb, pinning me against the wall and rendering me completely immobile. The paper swept Shamus along and deposited her on the wall beside me. Another sheaf of paper slapped across my face and clung to my goggles like a saran-wrapped blindfold, completely obscuring my vision. The muffled curses from next to me told me the same had happened to Shamus. Fortunately, the adrenaline surging through my veins kept me from dwelling on the indignity of it all.

As paper continued to rustle beyond my occluded vision, I could have sworn I heard a voice faintly saying "Oh, I'm terribly sorry!". Maybe the shock had made more of an impact than I'd thought.

After about a minute of squirming up against the wall, the paper went slack and dropped away, like a marionette with its strings cut, and Shamus and I thumped to the floor. My impromptu mask fell away as well, to reveal a bureaucrat's worst nightmare. Dossiers, files, and brand-new printer paper lay strewn over every square inch of the floor, piled like fresh snow. I could barely even see my desk under the heaps of white.

"What a nightmare," Shamus said. "I shouldn't even bother hurrying to the door, should I?"

"That's a no," I said. "Sorry, but I'm getting nothing on my radar." I'd set my exterior bugs to performing sweeps as soon as the raid had started, but they'd produced no results beyond some obvious pedestrians. Bugs could only cover so much space at once, so a cape, especially one with a mobility-assisting power, had plenty of opportunities to slip through my net, given some good luck.

Shamus leapt as though she'd been prodded with her own stun gun, and whirled back to her desk. She shoved heaps of paper left and right onto the floor with wild abandon to reveal a bare desk.

"Dammit! They took the book. Of course they did. What kind of bullshit did I get us involved with this time?"

"It's certainly turning out to be pretty unique," I said. "Animated paper's a new one. Maybe a new trigger?"

Shamus shook her head. "Too competent. Whoever blindsided us like this had to be a pro."

I wasn't sure whether that was her ego or her power speaking.

"And no, it's not my ego," she said with an eyeroll. "C'mon, give me some credit."

Power, then.

"If it's any consolation, my own ego's pretty bruised right now," I offered.

Abruptly, I stiffened. One of my bugs had just brushed against what felt an awful lot like a paper chain dangling against the building's exterior.

"There's paper going up the side of the building," I said, nearly stumbling over my words in my excitement. "It has to be them."

"They're going up? Maybe we've got a chance of cutting them off. C'mon!" Shamus scrambled for the door, waving at me to follow.

We burst out of our basement door and charged up the recessed stairwell to street level, then whirled into the lobby of the apartment building above our office. My bugs converged on the roof as we rushed up the stairwell. Eight flights of stairs and some quicker breathing later, we threw open the rooftop access door and hurtled through, only to see that we were too late.

Two blocks away, and about a hundred feet up, a paper plane the size of an SUV hurtled through the air. A figure sat perched atop it, their long coat whipping in the wind. Due to the angle, I couldn't get a good look, but the long hair flying out behind them suggested our assailant was a woman.

"Well, we almost got her," Shamus sighed. "I'd feel bad for the client if I didn't know they were a snake. Maybe it serves them right for lying to us, huh? But still, I don't like losing."

"Me either," I said. We'd been thoroughly trounced. Granted, we hadn't even known there'd be a fight, but that hardly felt like an excuse. I thought again about what might have happened if our opponent hadn't been pulling her punches, and shivered. I still didn't quite share Shamus's faith in the binding power of the unwritten rules she had explained to me.

We made our way back downstairs with considerably less energy than our charge upwards. Shamus didn't seem to feel much like talking, and I figured it'd be best not to interrupt her thinking, as we'd need her to pluck a pretty impressive deduction out of the air to find our mysterious paper master. As we stepped out into the fading afternoon sunlight, though, she still seemed flummoxed.

"I don't have much," she said, tugging at the brim of her hat. "They're an out-of-town cape, obviously, but I won't win any sleuthing awards for that one." Her brow furrowed for a moment. "They're here working on behalf of some group, I think. It doesn't feel like a solo operator. No clue on where she's gone yet, though. I'll need to do some serious legwork later for that. Oh joy, I can already feel the headache."

"So we're going after her? It seemed like you might be willing to let the client get burned on this one. You did get a bad vibe from them, right?"

Shamus raised an eyebrow. "Have you met me? The day I let someone pull one over on me is the day I eat my fedora. No, we're going to pin this paper chick to the wall, and then we'll turn the screws on our weaselly excuse for a client. How's that sound?"

"It sounds like it'll keep me busy, so I'm in," I said. "I don't have much homework this week, anyways."

We stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, contemplating our next move. As we did, our second unwelcome surprise of the day greeted us.

"Hey, you chicks!" a voice sneered from behind me. Shamus's eyes narrowed and flicked to a spot past my left shoulder. I turned to follow her gaze.

About ten feet away down the sidewalk stood someone whose shaved scalp and conceited smirk suggested membership in Empire Eighty-Eight.

Well, that and the huge "SS" tattoo on the side of their neck. Probably not one of the brightest members of the organization, then.

Shamus tilted the brim of her hat down over her face, slid her hands into the pockets of her trenchcoat, and gave a low chuckle. She sauntered forward a few steps.

"If 'Herr Kaiser' sent you here to threaten us, boy, did they ever send the wrong guy," she said. "_Please_ tell me you don't seriously expect us to feel even the slightest bit threatened by a powerless jag-off like yourself. You couldn't be that stupid, right? No, no, don't answer. That was a rhetorical question."

A vicious sneer remained on the man's face, but despite the six inches or so he had on Shamus, she seemed to be looming over him. I stepped up beside her and scuttled a clutch of particularly large and juicy centipedes out of a nearby building into a writhing heap at the thug's feet. His sneer grew brittle, but he persisted.

"Consider this your only warning," he said. "Kaiser doesn't like to hurt his own people 'cause it sends a bad message, but for you he's about willing to make an exception. Stick your noses in Empire business again and they're gonna get cut off. Literally, like."

I didn't care at all for the idea of being one of Kaiser's 'people'.

Shamus's own sneer put the skinhead's to shame. "On behalf of both me and my partner, take that racist garbage and shove it up your own ass posthaste," she said. "We go where we want and do what we want, and it'll be a particularly cold day in hell for Hitler before we take orders from a reeking piece of human refuse like you."

The thug seemed to be searching for a retort. That wouldn't do at all, so I rushed my battalion of centipedes forward over his feet and up his legs. He yelped, swatted at them ineffectually, then took off yelling as they swarmed up into his underwear.

Shamus stood watching him go for a moment, her expression surprisingly serious. She then turned to me with a smile. "I think that drove the message home nicely, Flutter. C'mon, let's get inside. I can't take any more excitement for now."

We retreated back into our office, which remained in a state of complete and utter disarray. Shamus took one look at the state of her files and slumped onto her desk with a groan.

"I'm never going to get this mess cleaned up," she said. "Months of organizing, and what do I get for it? A kick in the stomach from the universe."

I murmured sympathy before raising the issue which troubled me.

"How serious is the Empire?" I said. "I know we've been a problem for them, but do you think that they mean business about coming for us?"

Shamus drew her eyebrows together above her mask, her expression sober.

"Unfortunately, yes, I think they do," she said. "It's mostly my fault, I suspect. Kaiser doesn't like the idea of a rogue Thinker who's not handcuffed by PRT red tape running around. That's far too much X-factor for someone trying to take over a whole city. The Empire mostly observes the unwritten rules when it comes to non-villains, so they won't be out to drop our bodies in an unmarked grave, but they wouldn't blink at the idea of a little bodily harm." She pulled off her fedora and tossed it onto the desk, brushing out her hair. "Sorry, I know that was pretty heavy. I should probably start thinking about taking out some insurance for us against them getting really serious."

"Insurance?" I asked, trying to imagine what would be potent enough to freeze the mighty arm of a massive parahuman syndicate.

"Well, as you've seen, one of the perks of my power is that it's _very_ good at taking A and thirty-two and putting them together. Which might come in handy, for example, if you wanted to piece together the secret identities of a bunch of noxiously racist powered goons."

My breath caught as her words sunk in. "You mean…"

Her teeth gleamed with wicked glee.

"Oh, I mean. It's a nuclear option, admittedly, but I may need to start putting some brainpower that way."

I felt a little faint. The consequences of openly defying the strongest gang in the city, repeatedly, hadn't fully registered with me until today, but to think about going after information that sensitive was a brand-new level of alarming.

My brain took a moment to process before getting back up into gear.

"Is that safe?" I finally asked.

"Honey, we're capes," she said with a sympathetic smile. "Nothing we do is ever really safe. I get the concern, but you know I'm a pro. I don't screw around with this stuff. If the day ever comes, I'll break the news to him very tactfully."

I tried, and failed, to picture Shamus doing anything tactfully when it came to someone she didn't like.

She smirked. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Despite her confidence, I didn't feel completely sanguine about the plan.

"I don't know much about cape business, but blowing somebody's identity is as serious as it gets, isn't it? Won't that make them feel like they have to squash us before the information gets out? That's all I could think to do if my back was up against the wall like that. Plus, Kaiser can't be seen to knuckle under for a couple of teenage girls. It'd shatter his entire image."

"All very good points," she said with a nod. "Which is why we'd only ever use it if he's about to go way too far. With Panacea in town, that line's pretty far, and the Empire plays by the rules for now anyways. But if we end up needing an ace in the hole, better to have one than not."

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I trust you on this," I said. Shamus could be a smidgen too enthusiastic in taunting her enemies for her own good, but we'd gotten through enough together now for the words to spill forth with real conviction.

"Please, you'll make me blush." She kicked at one of the many drifts of paper piled up against her desk. "Welp, time to spend the rest of the night cleaning up this disaster, I guess. How many ants does it take to lift a piece of paper?"

"Oh, sorry, but I've got somewhere to be," I said. "This isn't too much for you to handle on your own, right?"

She uttered a resigned groan. "That's fine," she said with the air of the condemned. Suddenly, her eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, are you screwing with me? You are, aren't you? Hah!"

I grinned. "You got me," I said.

"Nice one. We'll make a wisecracking detective out of you yet."

"But no fedora," I said with a laugh. We got to work.


	18. Substitute 4-3

Lisa and I reunited, bleary-eyed and droopy-tailed, the next morning. It turned out she hadn't been exaggerating when she said that gathering up, re-sorting, and re-filing her papers was going to take all night. We were still knee-deep in paper at the crack of midnight, at which point I'd had to head home out of respect for parental sensibilities. Were it up to me, crashing at Lisa's nearby apartment sounded like a wonderful alternative, but a sleepover on a school night definitely felt like pushing my luck when it came to Dad. I could tell he liked me spending time with Lisa, but anything that might prompt a request for a call to or from her parents didn't warrant the trouble. Thankfully, me having an actual friend was still novel enough that he didn't mind my staying out late.

I took another indecently large gulp of my coffee as Lisa collected her order from the counter and wandered over to join me. Last night, we'd planned to meet at a coffeeshop a few blocks from Arcadia called Uncommon Grounds. As one of the more agreeably hip destinations in Downtown, its early birds generated enough background din to foil a potential eavesdropper.

Just thinking about last night hooked weights onto my eyelids. I rubbed my eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time in the past hour, and formed a platoon of ants in the cellar below into a cheer pyramid in the vain hope of stimulating some kind of mental activity.

Lisa half-sat, half-crumpled into the seat across from mine with a cross between a sigh and a moan.

"You look about as good as I feel," she said. "If I have to touch one more piece of paper, I'll scream. I'm going digital, I've had enough." Dull red paper cuts latticed both of her hands. She winced as her right hand brushed some of them against the unshielded heat of her cup. "I never thought 'death by a thousand cuts' was supposed to be taken literally."

I examined my own mercifully unblemished hands, one of the benefits of gloves woven from spider silk.

Lisa scowled. "Oh, don't rub it in. I'm already suffering enough, don't you think?"

"I could make you a pair, you know," I offered. "They'd probably go with the look."

"You're a miracle worker. I'd offer to commission a pair, but I can already tell what your answer to that is going to be."

"As if I'd take your money. And here I thought you were a Thinker."

"Yeah, yeah." She took a deep swig of her coffee. "God, I needed that. Ugh. I've never bent over so much in my life, and yes, I know how that sounds. Get your mind out of the gutter. My back's going to kill me for weeks."

"Stretching's supposed to be good for you, right?" I finished off the dregs of my coffee and decided to turn to more serious subjects. "Any luck deducing the identity of our mysterious assailant?"

"Not much, sadly. Only that they're probably in their 20s, government-employed, and here on an official cover story, not skulking around underground."

"Not much? That's practically a criminal profile."

"Oh, please. If it was any good, I'd be able to pinpoint her motel room and her employer. As is, I've got nothing. We'll have to hope she calls some attention to herself. I'll get in touch with a few of my contacts, too."

"You've got contacts?"

"Yeah, well, you meet some people when you're running around working for and against superpowered nutjobs." She smirked. "Present company excluded, of course."

"Naturally. I'll keep an eye out too, but I can't imagine I'll have much luck at Arcadia. I guess there's those Wards you said went there, but whoever this is doesn't sound interested in working with the local authorities."

"That said, odder things have happened," Lisa said. "I'll meet you after you finish getting your daily dose of federally-mandated education."

"We can't all be super-geniuses," I said. "Some of us actually need that education."

"Such a terribly benighted way to live. I can hardly imagine what it must be like. Anyways, don't be late on my account. I'll catch you after school." She rummaged in her purse and slid my fat, gray, plastic hunk of a pre-paid cellphone across the colorful lacquer of the table. I normally left it at the office to avoid any possibility of its existence getting back to Dad. "In case of any sudden developments," she said. "I have an inkling that this mess is going to spiral even further out of control, so I need you on call. I'll do my best to avoid disrupting your academic tranquility, but no promises."

I shoved the phone into a side pocket of my backpack. I didn't want to even think about trying to fit that brick of an electronic device into the so-called pockets of my skinny jeans. "See you at the office," I said, and set off toward Winslow.

The day's classes drifted by in an inadequately-caffeinated haze without much incident. Leaving things at one cup of coffee had undoubtedly been a mistake. Each standard-length 45-minute period seemed to lengthen the remaining day, not shrink it. My increasingly fatigued slog towards the final bell brought me to my English class, today held in the afternoon, thanks to the vagaries of Arcadia's rotating schedule. The rationale behind it was supposedly to break up the monotony to facilitate learning and retention, but even after just a month and a half or so, it was every bit as comfortably mind-numbing as Winslow's fixed schedule had been.

I filed in and dropped into my seat, murmuring greetings to a couple of kids I was reasonably friendly with. The bizarre Ms. Readman hadn't yet made another appearance, but judging by the continued absence of Mr. Peyren from behind his desk, she'd undoubtedly turn up soon. I took out my notebook and waited.

True to form, Ms. Readman skidded in with the chime of the bell. Pink colored her cheeks, and her breath came somewhat heavily.

"Oh, I hope you'll forgive me!" she said. "I was having the most fascinating conversation in the library, and I just lost track of time!"

I'd about figured as much.

"Maybe you could let us go early? Then you could get back to it," one of my more burned-out-looking classmates suggested hopefully.

"Oh, goodness, no!" Ms. Readman said, shocked. "I wouldn't dream of depriving you of even a single minute's discussion of this wonderful book." I couldn't find even the slightest trace of sarcasm in her tone. She smiled and clapped. "And I've even got the lesson plan!" She rummaged through the pockets of her jacket, reaching around lumps which looked to be several mass-market paperbacks. "There we go! Oh, I'm terribly sorry about yesterday."

At those words, a memory of whirling paper and intense confusion stirred itself. The lilt of her voice as she said them-but it couldn't be. Could it?

I hadn't been slouching, but I came up completely straight in my seat. The long, jet-black hair spilling down her back, the knee-length coat, the recent arrival and impermanent status, even her near-maniacal obsession with books-it all fit the frame constructed from firsthand experience and Lisa's deductions. To think that my milquetoast substitute English teacher secretly possessed superpowers seemed insane, but I was absolutely certain in my conviction. All that remained was for Lisa to validate my theory. Hopefully my first bit of real detecting wouldn't prove embarrassingly half-baked.

The forty minutes of class proved an exercise in slow-motion torture. Each tick of the second hand on the classroom's plastic clock reverberated in my ears like a gunshot. I set myself to organizing a relay race through the walls of the school with a group of centipedes to even out my nerves, but the adrenaline still pumped through my body with every heartbeat. I even managed to answer a few questions from Ms. Readman, for today she actually solicited participation, without my composure cracking completely. Her face betrayed no hint of recognition or suspicion, but an intrepid international agent wouldn't, after all, would she. I had no idea what to make of the woman anymore.

The flow of time followed its inexorable course, agonizingly slow though it might be, and with the ring of the final bell carried me to my desk in our office, where Shamus had failed to make any further dent in the errant paperwork. In fact, as I arrived through our back entrance, I found her nestled in her chair with her legs up on her paper-strewn desk, flipping through a battered paperback mystery which we had uncovered from a long-forgotten corner of the room last night. She turned a page, scoffed, and waved the book in a derisive gesture. "The sister did it," she said. "I knew I never read this thing for a reason."

"You're on page two," I said, more amused than surprised.

"You're right, I am slipping. In my defense, most of the first page was purple prose. Wasn't entirely indecipherable, though. Five gets you ten this author's dodged his taxes for years. Wanna tip off the IRS?"

"I think I've got a breakthrough on the case," I said. The words came out in a jumbled rush. "I might know who our mysterious thief is."

Shamus tossed her novel aside with wanton disregard. It landed on yet another stack of paper with a soft thud. She swung her legs off the desk and stood up, her eyes sharp with excitement.

"Wait, you solved it at school? Damn, keep that up and I'm going to start feeling like I'm just here to look good. Well, don't keep me waiting, come on, spill! Hey, is this what it feels like to deal with me all the time? I would drive myself nuts. Information wants to be free, so lay it on me already."

I told her my suspicions, seemingly unsupported though they might be. She banged a fist on the desk with glee. Warm mirth filled her laugh.

"A substitute teacher! Oh, that's perfect. We got punked by a substitute teacher! I'll never live this one down. Not that anyone else is ever going to find out if I can help it, but I'm my own harshest critic."

"So you think I could be right?"

"Could be? Hon, it's a guarantee. You nailed it. Very solid sleuthing, so props for that. Your substitute teacher! Christ, days like these are almost lucky enough to make you feel like the universe is actually on your side." She checked her watch. "That said, I should get eyes on her to be one hundred percent certain that it's our girl. How about we change back into civvies, duck out the back, and make a quick trip? Sorry to drag you back to that pit of hormonal ferment and teenage angst, but it's for a good cause."

"I've got nothing better to do," I said. "Let's get moving."

A brisk but relatively brief walk brought us to the school. Lisa talked my ear off about everything but the case on the way. Aside from the track, The school had largely been deserted by this time, an hour after the final bell. Many of the teachers remained, of course, ensconced in their classrooms with their work, but the students scattered at the first moment of freedom. Grunts of exertion and whistle blasts carried through the open windows of the building from the fields behind the school where the lacrosse and field hockey teams practiced, but the halls themselves were largely deserted.

"God, field hockey. Can you imagine?" Lisa said. She shuddered and looked back over her shoulder at the threshold. "Setting foot in one of these places again while the sun's still up just feels wrong. Serious bad juju. Now, where's that office?"

With Lisa on my heels, I headed for a nearby staircase and out onto the second floor. From there, the walk to my English class took no more than a minute or two, depending on how reluctant you were to get to class that day. Lisa gave a jaunty wave and her best beaming smile to a girl who hurried out of a nearby classroom with a microscope clutched in both hands, but the girl rushed by without breaking stride. Lisa sighed.

"Typical self-absorbed teenager," she said with mock derision. "What are they teaching you kids here? And to think people like to judge dropouts. Best decision I ever made."

"We're here," I said, gesturing to an unremarkable door of light brown laminate wood nestled in a double row of gray steel lockers. "She's at her desk." I'd tagged her with a gnat as we'd gone up the staircase.

"Impeccable navigating, as always." Lisa flashed me a grin. "You'd better hang back out of sight, just in case she's a sharp one. Wouldn't want her to put two and two together. Thirty seconds with her should be more than enough for me to figure out if that's our gal, so sit back and watch the master at work."

One quick jaunt through the door and a few confused excuses later, and Lisa strolled back out. A triumphant smirk curled across her face. She gestured for me to follow as she headed back towards the stairs.

"Yeah, that's her," she said. "I'll admit, I'm impressed. You totally nailed it. A substitute teacher! Hah!" She barked a laugh again. "Of all the ridiculous cover stories. I'm seriously embarrassed that I didn't think of it. Well, we've got her now."

"Where are we going?" I asked as we exited the staircase and headed back outside. "Don't we need to put her under surveillance, or something? I've still got my bugs on her, but we'll be out of range in a minute."

"Professional as always! You're on fire today, so keep it up. Our paper puppeteer had her face buried so deeply in a book when I walked in that I could barely even see her eyes. Trust me, she won't be going anywhere for a while. I guess when it's a choice between reading in some motel room or your classroom, the classroom doesn't seem so bad. What we're going to do is go change, stake out this place thanks to your fabulous surveillance skills, tail her back to whatever dump she's lurking in, and then give her a good working over."

My hesitation must have showed on my face, because Lisa chortled and made a calming gesture. "Verbally work her over, don't worry. She used the kid gloves on us, so it only seems fair to return the favor. Plus, beating up a substitute teacher has to be one of the saddest things you could do. They suffer enough from those kids already, don't you think?"

"I'm relieved you weren't planning on taking a crowbar to her," I said. "She certainly got the typical abuse from the class, but I'm not sure if it registered at all. She's kind of remarkably spacey."

"No need to tell me," Lisa said. "That lady's a major head case. And to think she's working for a major government! The Brits have majorly lost it."

We paused at the school crosswalk to allow a gaggle of track team members, most beet-red and in various stages of respiratory distress, to fly by. My calves twinged in sympathy. My morning runs had gotten me into fairly respectable shape by now, all things considered, but that didn't mean they were easy.

Lisa observed their exertions with a dubious look. "I still say you're crazy for voluntarily doing that to yourself," she said. "Don't give all those pompous flying pricks the satisfaction of turning into a human tomato just to cover a few miles."

I couldn't disagree with the sentiment, but decided to get in a riposte anyways.

"It helps when you need to flee from a crossbow-wielding maniac," I said.

"Touché," Lisa replied with a smirk.

We made good time back to the office, at least until I had to talk Lisa out of needling a Protectorate patrol - Armsmaster did not seem like the kind of guy to appreciate some "spirited repartee", as Lisa called it - changed into our costumes, and made our way back to Arcadia. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon by the time we returned. Banks of Arcadia's crystal-clear windows blazed red in answer.

"It's no dump, I'll say that much," Shamus said of the school as we both gazed appreciatively. "Did you pick up our girl?"

I reached out and nudged the minuscule gnats I'd settled in the creases of Ms. Readman's coat, of which there were many.

"Locked in," I confirmed. "We'll know as soon as she starts moving."

Shamus beamed with appreciation. "Honestly, you make the best tail," she said. "A+ power for surveillance work. I don't even have to try."

"You're too kind," I said. "I do think I'm getting the hang of it. I'd still probably rather be able to throw people through walls, though."

My bugs swished through the air as Ms. Readman stood up from her desk. "She's moving," I said to Shamus. "How do you want to play it?"

"Oooh, I love being asked for my opinion. Not that I ever hesitate to give it, of course." She chuckled. "On to business. Above all, we have to make sure not to spook her. If she twigs to us, those paper powers will rip us apart. I'm not sure if even your bugs will be able to get through them, and god knows I'll be dead weight. We'll use your human-radar self to follow her while staying out of sight. Once she heads back to whoever she's stashed the book - and she _will _head back to wherever she's stashed the book - we'll get in her face and very sternly demand some answers. How's that for a plan?"

"Do you think we'll be able to get away with trying to talk to her first? She seemed like a paper tornado first, questions later kind of operator."

"Well, well, get a load of Ms. Preemptive Strike here. Gunning to cold-cock your own teacher?"

"Come on, you know that's not it. Reasonable precautions might be justified, that's all."

"I'm insufferable, I know. To get serious, I'm almost one hundred percent confident that we'll be able to have a productive conversation with resorting to physical, or, in my case, verbal blows. She might be a spook, but I have to say, she doesn't make a particularly scary one. I want her to know that we found her, and that we _could_ take the book back. Not that we're probably going to, mind you, depending on how interesting the whole mess turns out to be."

I nodded, and hoped that her faith was not misplaced, as I tracked Ms. Readman to a side entrance often preferred by the teachers. To say that I had misgivings about my ability to take my substitute on would be a profound understatement. And there was a sentence that, six months ago, I never would have anticipated myself saying.

"She's clear of the building," I said to Shamus. "What was the game plan from here?"

She smiled.

"It's pretty straightforward, really. We tail her to whichever dump she's stashed our book in, and we very politely ask for it back."

I quirked an eyebrow behind my lenses, knowing that Shamus would almost certainly pick up on it anyways, full-face mask or not.

"Alright, so maybe I ask pretty rudely, and then if she says no, you stick a bunch of bugs where the sun don't shine," she said. "How's that for a plan?"

"I hate to say it, but I've heard better. Didn't you say she was a government agent? That sounds like it could be a little out of our league."

Shamus waved a hand with disdain.

"The British government's supposed to scare me? What is this, 1776? 1773? I can never remember when the damn thing started. Hey, this is what happens when you drop out of history class, isn't it? Hoist on my own petard. Anyways, it's not like we're going to kill, or even hurt, our friendly substitute paper Master, so don't worry."

"Okay," I said. "You figured out which government she was with from one conversation that quick?"

Shamus laughed.

"Actually, I pretty much just went off the accent," she said, her shoulders shaking with mirth. "Sometimes you have to take a flier, right?"

I shook my head in bemusement. The more time I spent with Shamus, the more apparent the limits of her power became, but I still found myself treating it more as a mystical 411 line than a phenomenon with clear capabilities and limits. That wouldn't do at all if I wanted to be a capable partner. I needed a firm mental grasp on what Lisa could do to be sure that my actions would be an effective extension of her own. That would be something else to work on.

As we crouched in our well-concealed vantage point behind one of the school's dumpsters, Ms. Readman paced down the sidewalk which curved from the school's entrance down to the street. As it happened, we needn't have bothered concealing ourselves, as she had buried her nose in yet another book, and seemed utterly oblivious to any and all of her surroundings.

Shamus sounded almost disgusted.

"There's not gonna be any sport in this tail at all, is there, huh? I really should have seen that coming." She watched as Ms. Readman nearly made impact with multiple oncoming pedestrians, who barely saved themselves by swerving out of the way at the last moment. "Christ. I think we could walk right behind her the whole way and she wouldn't even notice. Even for what I remember of substitutes, she's got more than a few screws loose." Horns blared as she nearly stepped off the sidewalk into fast-flowing traffic. MS. Readman yelped and leapt back, then immediately returned to her book. Shamus groaned.

"This dingbat had better not get herself killed before we can pump her for information. Honestly, this is just sad."

"I have some concerns myself," I admitted. "It's hard to believe this is the same woman who took us out so effortlessly yesterday. It felt like crossing paths with an avalanche."

Shamus scowled.

"Now I'm even more humiliated. This case keeps getting worse and worse. At this rate, it'll probably end up with me getting knocked out and stuffed in a trash can with a 'Kick Me' sign on it."

"Well, I won't kick it," I said.

"Oh, you'll have your own trash can, don't worry. It's pretty clear that I'm dragging you down with me on this one. If you're approaching rock bottom at terminal velocity, you can always break through it."

Ms. Readman darted across another intersection on her journey towards the less-savory parts of Downtown, and Shamus and I followed from our position a full block back.

"I'll just have to hope I don't end up smeared on the bedrock of international biblio-conspiracies," I said. The constant flow of pedestrians around us would have made maintaining visual contact with our target from this distance nearly impossible, but thanks to my insectoid tracking devices, we could follow from a distance where we almost certainly wouldn't be spotted by an alert individual, much less one with her focus squarely and solely on a book.

As we walked, Downtown bustled with people out for dinner, drinks, or recreation after another mind-numbing workday. We were passing through the last of the more reputable nightlife districts now, and while we did draw some attention as streetlights threw us into relief against the gathering darkness, most people simply shot us the same glance you might give any other mildly noteworthy pedestrian, and then hurried on. In any city, you got used to seeing capes, and in a city like Brockton Bay, you got used to giving them a wide berth. This might stem from fear of giving affront, when it came to the criminal element, or fear of getting caught up in a crossfire, when it came to the heroes. What's more, Shamus deliberately kept a very low profile, and I hadn't even had a picture circulated online or in the media. You couldn't miss somebody like Glory Girl, who, I was sure, had plenty of encounters with awestruck young fans, but anybody walking behind Shamus probably wouldn't even have realized she was a cape, even if they did know about her. That said, there was no mistaking my carapace armor for anything but a costume. Rather unfortunately, it occurred to me that the appearance of my costume might be causing people to lump me in with the aforementioned criminal element, and thus make a point not to engage. Absent reason to believe otherwise, people tended to assume the worst about an unknown cape, as a matter of survival rooted in simple pragmatism, if nothing else.

I sighed inwardly. I had to admit, I did look a little off-putting, but I'd already racked my brain for months before finally settling on this design as the best of a number of ominous options. My mind returned to Glory Girl again. She'd seemed nice enough the two times I'd run into her, and she'd seemed genuinely interested in the PR stuff. Maybe I would ask her for some sartorial tips the next time I saw her. Or maybe I should talk to that Parian Shamus had mentioned, to see if she would be willing to help me with an upgrade.

Shamus chuckled.

"Don't worry, it's not so bad if people are a little scared. That gives us an edge when it comes to investigating. We've got the good cop/bad cop dynamic on lock. I know we haven't done many interrogations, but you could crack most people like an egg just by standing there silently and running a few bugs around."

"Uh, thanks, I guess?" I said. Truth be told, I didn't entirely know how to take that kind of compliment. Shamus, of course, must have sensed it, as she pressed on resolutely.

"No, really, I mean it," she said. "If you're thinking that being able to lean on people like a champ makes you some kind of villain, think again. Intimidation is a currency in the world we're moving in. The PRT does the same thing to people all the time. The freaking _cops_ do the same thing to people all the time. Maybe they wouldn't threaten the lives of someone's family, like the Empire might, but that doesn't mean that they're lacking for pressure points of their own. Getting the right information out of someone quickly and cleanly can be the difference between a whole bunch of people dying messily or going home and sitting down at the dinner table with their families without knowing that anything even could've happened."

I nodded Shamus to the left, and as we headed down the block in pursuit of Ms. Readman, she launched back into her speech.

"So, you and I may be forced to wade around in the sewers sometimes, but that doesn't mean it has to leave a permanent stain on you. You know I'm not the world's biggest do-gooder, but I've still helped people, and so have you. If sometimes you've got to come down a little hard on some garbage excuse for a human being, well, I'm not losing any sleep over it, and neither should you."

"Very hard-boiled of you," I said. I felt a little better already.

Shamus snorted. "Thanks, that means a lot. Anyways, leave the PR to the people in the spotlight, like Glory Girl. I know you don't really care about popularity, and neither do I." She smirked. "Which isn't to say that I couldn't make us both the queen bitches of the Brockton Bay cape celebrity scene if I wanted to, mind you. Glory Girl wouldn't stand a chance. They'd be eating out of our hands." She glanced down to where my costume tapered over my rugged boots. "We would have to put you in heels, though."

"That idea's a little scarier than facing down the Empire, thanks," I said. "But I get what you're saying, and I agree. The most important thing is making a difference."

Still, I might as well have that chat with Parian, when I had the time.

One block ahead of us and another block to the right, Ms. Readman abruptly turned into a building. We were now very much so into the seedier parts of Downtown, where some storefronts displayed half-scrubbed graffiti, and where wooden boards covered the still-broken windows of some others.

I still couldn't see the building Ms. Readman had entered, but her movement had come to a halt. It had to be her hideout. What else could she be doing in this part of town? I voiced my suspicions to Shamus, who nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, that's gotta be the place. C'mon, let's nail her."

"So the plan's walking in the front door? Just checking."

Shamus waved me onwards as she hurried across the crosswalk. One block to go. A gaggle of skinheads leered at us unpleasantly, then quickly looked away as I swiveled my head in their direction and regarded them from behind the opaque one-way lenses of my mask. The goons made themselves scarce with impressive speed.

In these neighborhoods, the aura of an intimidating cape maybe wasn't quite so bad, as no normal thug would ever be stupid enough to mess with somebody in a mask. Of course, that only meant that you attracted gang violence of the super-powered variety instead, which was just as liable to have a very negative impact on your long-term health, if not more so.

We came to the end of the block, and Shamus looked over at me.

"Let me guess; this is the place, right?"

Opposite the street from us, dominating its entire block, rose one of the hollowed-out old brick factories entirely too familiar to anybody who lived in a major ex-industrial New England city. Its smokestacks rose against the barely-illuminated evening sky. Some force-undoubtedly a struggle between Empire Eighty-Eight and the Protectorate or New Wave-had blown off half of the middle smokestack, leaving it a stump loomed over by its brethren. All of them were utterly inert. This place had been shuttered for so long that even my dad wouldn't remember ever seeing it in motion. A few gaping shards of glass were all that remained of almost every window we could see. Only a few of the top ones on the fifth story remained intact, by virtue of being much harder to hit.

Shamus whistled. "Well, it's an apt site for a showdown, I'll give her that. She's got better taste in hideouts than I thought."

Shamus sized up the building, and tapped a finger against her cheek. "We may as well go in through one of the windows, I guess. C'mon, follow my lead."

We crossed the street and headed over to stand beside the factory corner. I did my best to inject confidence and purpose into my stride and posture as we did. I didn't want to log onto PHO tomorrow and read somebody posting about how Flutter enjoyed slouching around creepy old factories.

Shamus shucked off her trenchcoat, swaddled her arm in it, and swept the last few fragments of glass out of the frame of the window closest to us. She had chosen a point around the corner from where Ms. Readman had entered, undoubtedly to maximize our chances of a stealthy entrance. Naturally, she hadn't needed me to give her the exact location of the main gates.

Shamus unwrapped her coat from her arm and donned it once more, rested a foot against the windowsill, and grinned at me. "If I get dragged screaming off into the darkness by paper as soon as I get a foot inside, you'd better come after me."

"I'll think about it," I said, smiling under my mask in return. Thankfully, Ms. Readman hadn't yet budged from her position near the entrance, so I doubted very much that we'd need to worry about a sneak attack.

Shamus hopped over the ledge, and I followed. If I were one of those cool-as-they-come action heroes, I probably would've vaulted it at a run for dramatic effect. Given the lack of immediately life-threatening circumstances, I opted instead to somewhat clumsily swing first one leg over the sill, then another, and lever myself inside.

The factory floor stretched out before us. Of course, nobody had paid an electric bill here for a very long time, and so the only light available to see by was that which streamed through the yawning maws of the windows. As these were set at regular intervals all along the floor, they provided enough light to see pretty well by.

The floor itself boasted mostly plain concrete, and very little else. Whichever machines used to form the heart of this place had long since been shipped away or sold for scrap. The lack of obstacles ensured that the yellow glow of the streetlights reached far enough inside to connect with that of their kin on the opposite side of the building.

Shamus held a finger to her lips, though she looked visibly pained at the prospect of being unable to fire off a few choice comments about the place. I nodded, and whirled a mass of the flying bugs I'd brought together to form a rough map before her eyes, marking our position and Ms. Readman's. Shamus grinned in appreciation and flashed me a thumbs-up. She retrieved her stun gun from its shoulder holster, and crept forward, waving for me to follow.

While the factory floor itself was empty, several offices could be seen at the far end of the building. Ms. Readman, according to my tracer bugs, had situated herself in the office closest to the entrance, which happened to be in the opposite corner of the building. A quick crawl-by of the office didn't reveal much that would serve as an obvious weapon. In fact, a few odds and ends in various corners aside, the office appeared to contain only a table and a single chair, at which Ms. Readman was currently seated.

We crept across the factory floor without so much as a sound, barring one close call where I nearly sent a golf-ball-sized fragment of old machinery skittering across the floor. After that, I swept the floor in front of me with my bugs every remaining step of the way, to prevent any further incidents.

At last, we stood next to the door, myself on the right side and Shamus on the left. I reformed my bugs into a map of the room itself, including a diagram which indicated that Ms. Readman, as best I could tell, had her back to the door.

Shamus nodded, and flashed me another thumbs-up. I wanted to compliment myself on the clear quality of my insectoid heads-up displays, but, sadly, it was just as likely that only Shamus could have made any sense of them. I'd have to find a non-Thinker to practice on sometime.

Shamus held up three fingers. I gathered together my bugs, just in case, although I wasn't at all sanguine about our chances in a head-on collision.

Two fingers, then one, and we burst into the room, with her in the lead.


	19. Substitute 4-4

Shamus flung the door open and leapt inside. Though she had her stun gun in hand, she'd mostly concealed her hand within her sleeve. I stepped into the doorway after her, and kept my bugs just out of sight. The office itself held only an old metal table and an equally old metal chair. The long, black hair of the chair's current occupant spilled over the back. A large book with a faded and well-worn cover lay open on the table.

Shamus spoke. "Sorry to drop in unannounced, but we really need to ta-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Ms. Readman leapt up with a yelp, whirled toward us, and the world flipped upside-down.

After a moment to right myself mentally, if not physically, I realized that that statement wasn't entirely accurate. Of course, I had been the one flipped upside-down, along with Shamus. Specifically, we both now dangled from the ceiling on oversized chains of paper wrapped around both legs.

While I was somewhat overawed by the speed of the response, I had to admit that this was pretty much what I had been expecting.

"Oh, come on!" Shamus said. As she attempted to keep her hat pressed firmly against her head-she really liked that hat- her stun gun slipped out of her sleeve and clattered to the floor. "I said we needed to _talk_!"

Ms. Readman placed herself between us and the book with the stance of a high-end bodyguard sheltering her country's head of state from an active shooter. She brandished a handful of white paper. Too late, I noticed that one of the one of the objects on the floor which I'd taken for a relatively innocuous bundle of something industrial was, in fact, a full, store-fresh sheath of office-supply-issue printer paper. Such were the limits of bug-based reconnaissance.

"You can't have this book!" Ms. Readman said, her words firm and her gaze resolute, even when viewed from my current inverted state. I could already feel the unpleasant sensation of blood rushing to my head. It seemed best to let Shamus do the talking for now, especially since I had to take care not to give Ms. Readman any clue as to my real identity. Fortunately, I didn't talk in class much.

Shamus waved her hands, and somehow contrived to look both irritated and wounded while being dangled by her heels from the ceiling, which was really no mean feat. "Like I said, we just want to talk!" she said. "Yes, I know we're the ones you took it from in the first place, but honestly, I'm not even that attached to the stupid thing. My partner and I just want to know the score, you know?"

I hoped Ms. Readman would go for it, but to be perfectly frank, we weren't working from the strongest negotiating position. I found myself slowly rotating to one side, and attempted to check the motion without the kind of violent thrashing which would probably not do wonders for Shamus's attempts to defuse the situation. The rush of blood to my head had now begun to leave me somewhat dizzy. Hopefully Shamus managed to keep a clear head so she could talk us out of this mess. I could've called my bugs, of course, but I didn't want to provoke a potentially more violent response until the situation absolutely demanded one.

Ms. Readman frowned. "Well, I should think you'd say that, now that I've got you tied up," she said. She nudged Shamus's fallen stun gun with one brown-shoed foot. "I did see you carrying this, you know."

I had to admit, it was a fair point. Or maybe that was the inherent authority of her thoroughly refined upper-crust British accent. It was like trying to argue with one of those documentary talking heads who sounded like they knew more about some ancient, obscure battle than you did about your own life.

With one hand still pressing her hat firmly against her head, Shamus essayed another attempt to prove our good intentions.

"Okay, cards on the table. I didn't like the look of the guy who brought that book to us in the first place, you know? Got kind of an odd vibe, but some kind of rare book antique caper was way too interesting to pass up, so we took it. Which, I don't mind telling you, I'm now _very_ much regretting, since I don't in fact enjoy getting slapped around by overly aggressive tree pulp. It's pretty clear that you're the good guy here compared to that dick, so why not cut us loose?" Shamus waved her hat towards me. "My partner could have swarmed you with bugs from a block away if we'd wanted to hurt you, hon. You'd never even have known we were there. She was dying to do it after yesterday, too, but I put my foot down and said no, we're going to talk it out. And this is what I get as thanks?"

While being painted as a revenge-hungry maniac didn't exactly thrill me, the fact that my own costume made that tack a ready go-to for contrast with Shamus's good cop forestalled any real complaint on my part. That said, I wasn't a particularly effective bad cop. Was I?

Ms. Readman now appeared more puzzled than angry, which I took to be an encouraging sign.

"You mean you're not here to take the book?" she said. Her gaze softened somewhat.

"Yes, yes, that's what I've been saying," Shamus said. "Was that not clear? I mean, I thought it was. I can take it from the top, if you want. Evidently, I don't have much else to do right now." She gestured at her feet, then wiped at her mouth with the back of her free hand. "Ugh, this isn't doing wonders for my digestion."

On that point, I had to agree. I was feeling a bit light-headed already. Thankfully, the nausea afflicting Shamus appeared to have spared me. Throwing up inside my own mask did not sound very fun. Another thing they should really have put in the "So You've Got Superpowers" pamphlet.

Ms. Readman tapped her chin, her expression now entirely quizzical. At least, it seemed quizzical to me from my inverted vantage point. Gauging reactions while upside-down was harder than I might have guessed, if asked an hour ago.

"I'd love to trust you, but you could be lying to me, couldn't you?" she said. "That is a classic ploy, after all. The villain at the hero's mercy, then an insincere appeal to the conscience, and the tables turn." She brandished one paper-filled hand, and rested the other protectively on the cover of the book behind her. "I won't allow anything to harm this book!"

I was very glad Shamus, and not I, was the one tasked with verbally digging our way out of this situation.

"Villains?" Shamus said. "We're not villains, Ms. Paper. We're independent. I run a private detective agency." She waved a hand at me. "Flutter here is my partner. We take cases. We don't rob banks." She abruptly lost her grip on her hat, which promptly dropped the four feet from Shamus's head to the floor. "Oh, dammit. Don't step on that, would you?"

Ms. Readman appeared puzzled. "You're not villains?" She turned to look at me. "But you broke in on me here, and that costume-"

Shamus cleared her throat. "Okay, I can see why somebody might get that impression, but we're clean. Scout's honor. And, hey, you broke in on us yesterday! Totally unprovoked, too. You trashed my office!" She waggled her fingers, which were still lacerated with paper cuts. "I nearly bled myself dry trying to clean that place up, and it's still a horror show. But we're the bad guys? Frankly, I'm offended."

Ms. Readman's grin was somewhat sheepish. "Erm, well, I suppose you may have a point. I may owe you an apology. It's just that, you see, I was so sure you were villains, and so, I didn't want to take any chances. I'm sure you understand." Her last sentence sounded more hopeful than confident, perhaps not without reason. Normally, I liked to think of myself as pretty understanding, but my good graces had begun to wear down alongside my memory of what it felt like to stand normally.

"Yeah, sure, no hard feelings, and all that," Shamus said. "Now, how about letting us down, so we can keep this conversation going on more congenial terms? I think every red blood cell in my circulatory system is sloshing around inside my head right now."

Shamus's request fell on deaf ears, for Ms. Readman had already turned back to the book on the table and held it up for examination. Shamus favored me with an impressive upside-down shrug, then twirled one finger next to her head and mouthed _This lady's nuts. _I returned the shrug, slightly fumbled due to the circumstances.

With the book clasped to her chest, Ms. Readman turned back toward us. "Did the man who hired you tell you what makes this book so interesting?" she asked. "It's rather remarkable."

"You know, I've been wondering the same thing ever since I got myself buried in a paper avalanche over it," Shamus said. "I've got no idea, and I _hate_ having no idea. If that's an offer to fill us in, I'm all ears, at least until I pass out doing my Incredible Upside-Down Woman here."

Ms. Readman beamed. "Oh, wonderful!" she said. This last subtle request for release had flown so far over her head that it was heading into orbit. She held the book out to us, and tapped the cover. "This is an ancient text authored in the third century A.D. by a Roman writer living in Britain, Claudius the Learned. He was raised in the province as a boy, and started writing at the age of twelve. Even his earlier works, such that we have, are actually quite good. He must have been a very talented young man to have produced such a remarkable body of work from such a young age-"

Shamus cleared her throat. "I hate to interrupt, but could you maybe fast-forward to the part which explains how we ended up hanging from the ceiling in this dump?"

Hear, hear.

"Ah, er, absolutely. Where was I…oh, that's right! Claudius was somewhat of an occultist, and traveled the length and breadth of Britain, and later Gaul, seeking out reports of individuals with abnormal abilities or impossible talents. If his writings are to be believed, there was a substantial outbreak of such incidents during his lifetime. This volume of Claudius's in particular contains some passages which may be verifiable once we check against other texts in the records."

Shamus nodded. "So, whichever set of stuffed-shirt archivists you work for thinks that this book might give us some insights into what's been going on with this messed-up world since the eighties, is that it? They think it's happened before, and we can learn something from that?"

Ms. Readman nodded. "Yes, that's precisely it." She set down her fistful of papers and folded a paper crane with a few flicks of her fingers. With a wave of her hand, the crane fluttered through the air, circling around first Shamus's head, then mine. "These powers are still a mystery to even the greatest scientists in the world. It's quite possible that we may have overlooked vital information bound up in splendid books just like this one. This text was found in a private collection last month. I was bringing it back when that horrid man took it from me. I followed him to this town, but when I found him, he hadn't it in his possession. It seems he must have delivered it to you two in the hopes that you would keep it safe from me until his associates could come to claim it."

I still didn't feel very invested in the ultimate fate of some dusty old book, but at least that took some of the sting out of how much we had botched this one.

"Clearly we've disappointed on that front," Shamus said, her tone dry enough to be used for kindling. "There goes my bonus. Anyways, we get it now, and since we don't like people yanking our chain any more than we like doing our best bat impression, as far as I'm concerned, you can keep the book. I'm looking forward to personally putting the thumbscrews to the chump who used us as a safe-deposit box." She gestured at my feet, then hers. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to let us stand up under our own power, we can be on our merry way."

Ms. Readman clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, dear! I'm terribly sorry to have left you like that all this time. Please forgive me!"

I eyed the ground beneath me, and braced for the possibility of being dropped directly on my head. I wouldn't even mind that much. Anything that reunited me with sweet, sweet _terra firma _was worth a couple bruises.

Opposite me, behind Ms. Readman, a mass of gleaming steel crashed through what might have been the last intact window in the entire building. Steel rasped on concrete as what could only be Hookwolf slid to a stop and leered at me with a murderous gaze.

At the exact same moment, another figure vaulted a windowsill in the far corner and landed on heavy feet with a thud.

Elaborately-inked dragon tattoos wound their way up the shirtless and impressively-muscled torso of the second newcomer. He thrust a tattooed index finger at Ms. Readman. "Paper woman!" he roared. "Now you learn a lesson in respect!"

"Oh, you've _gotta_ be shitting me!" Shamus said.


	20. Substitute 4-5

Even while upside down, it was easy to see that we were in trouble.

Ms. Readman yelped and whirled from Hookwolf to the tattooed newcomer, who carried himself with the confidence of the supremely arrogant or the supremely powerful, if not both. Abruptly, my world flipped on its axis in a rustle of paper once more, as the paper dangling me from the ceiling whirled into a giant hand and carried me out of the room back onto the main factory floor.

I thudded to the ground a few feet outside the door to the office. Shamus tumbled down beside me a half-second later. I fought to tamp down a fresh wave of nausea provoked by this latest inversion. Even then, the feeling of floor beneath my boots had me feeling better already. Until the reality of our situation set back in a moment later, anyways.

Shamus scrabbled to her feet. "Jesus, that's _Lung_!" she said with a high-pitched laugh. "Oh man, we're so screwed. What the hell is he doing here? How many people in this town has she pissed off?"

Lung? Oh. _That_ Lung. Shamus's file on him had been two things: thick and intimidating. Apparently he was almost unbeatable. Somehow, I doubted that I would be the one to put that to the test.

I hurriedly stood up just in time for the wall of the office to explode outward in a shower of brick, mortar dust, and gleaming steel. Hookwolf stalked forward toward us. Light from the office lamp silhouetted him in the gap and swallowed up the faint streetlight filtering through the nearby window.

Shamus patted her pocket, presumably for her stun gun, before realizing she didn't have it. "Perfect, just perfect," she muttered.

Ms. Readman flailed through the gap behind Hookwolf, with her book in one arm and her silver suitcase in the other. The suitcase's lid cracked open, and paper spilled everywhere. As she stumbled over the loose bricks, coughing on the drifting particulate, she desperately flung out one hand behind her. Paper leapt up from the pile around the suitcase to form a seal over the whole of the gap, just as a furious bellow came from the far side, followed by the hungry whoosh of leaping flame. The paper seal blackened at the edges, and the scent of smoke filled the air. With another wave of her hand, more paper leapt to cover the door, which still stood unopened in its frame.

By now, I had bugs of every description spilling over the windowsills, erupting out of gaps in the floor, and zipping to me through the broken glass. However, even with the abundance available to me thanks to the dilapidated state of our surroundings, Hookwolf presented a very hard-and sharp-problem.

Hookwolf lunged, and Shamus and I scattered out of the way. His claws screeched wickedly on the concrete as his landing carved furrows out of the floor. Behind him, Ms. Readman's paper seal collapsed completely as smoldering around the edges rose into a full-blown fire. She scrambled backwards a few steps. Lung's huge, muscled frame filled the gap in the wall. With a vicious snarl on his face, he tore apart the last vestiges of paper still clinging on in the way, and barked something in a language I didn't recognize. When Ms. Readman babbled back a nervous and equally unintelligible reply, I realized it had to be Japanese.

Anyways, that was entirely beside the point, given the seriously dire state of affairs at the moment.

"Are they working together?" I asked Shamus as we both edged backwards, away from Hookwolf's lazy prowl. "Didn't you say that the Empire has been trying to wipe the ABB out?"

"I did, and they are!" Shamus said. "God, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. These two geniuses had no idea the other one would be here. Hookwolf's here for us, and Lung's here for her. How's that for a kick in the head? This just isn't our week."

"Their timing could have been a little better for us," I said. With enough bugs to try something finally on hand, I opted for the old standby of an aerial assault on Hookwolf's eyes. The combination of his bladed frame and his sheer physical power would make any attempt to truss him up a total fool's errand.

As some of my flies zipped into his eyes, they abruptly disappeared from my senses. Looking closer, I saw some of Hookwolf's myriad shifting blades whirling over his eyes with blurring speed. While an irritating wrinkle, it did have hte benefit of shooting bug gunk directly into Hookwolf's eyes. He shook his head in irritation. While I had bought us a moment's reprieve, this obviously was not a winning strategy, and frankly, I didn't have any better ideas for one.

Another roar, followed by an orange thunderclap of flame, reminded me that I'd entirely neglected to distract Lung. On the far side of Hookwoolf, Ms. Readman and the gang leader were locked in a furious struggle. Paper flew at him in all kinds of configurations, first as a massive lance, then swirling into a colossal hammer, then an oversized set of manacles, but an increasingly scaly Lung met each blow in turn with seemingly ever more furious blasts of fire. Amazingly, the paper didn't immediately flame up into nothing but smoke and ash on contact with the fire, as might have been expected from what had seemed to be bog-standard printer paper. Even so, despite the enhanced resilience no doubt provided by Ms. Readman's power, her constructs wilted and collapsed under the flame moments after coalescing.

Another blast of fire licked out at Ms. Readman. The paper wall which she barely interposed in time absorbed most of the blow, but a small curl of the fire shot over the wall and singed her hair. She yelped, sliced off the burnt hair with a sheet of paper, then said something. While I couldn't hear her over the racket made by Lung, from the way her lips moved, I was almost certain she had said "Oh dear, oh dear!" The book remained clutched tightly to her chest.

Shamus shook her head. "She should've tried to kill him right away," she said. "She might even have been able to manage it. There's no stopping the guy otherwise. She must not know about his powers."

Lest we forget that he intended to be the focus of our attention, Hookwolf snarled and hurtled through the air in our direction. While he still couldn't consistently keep his eyes open thanks to my stream of bug juices, I couldn't do much about him tracking us via hearing.

That thought had to be put on hold momentarily as Shamus and I leapt in opposite directions to avoid Hookwolf's newest charge. Hookwolf's momentum carried him in my direction. He hit the ground and charged forward, no doubt in an attempt to gore one of us if we had failed to evade in time. I managed to twist all but my right leg out of the way. One of his leg blades nicked me in a glancing hit. Thankfully, the reinforced material of my costume held against the cut, but the throbbing from my shin told me I could look forward to a nasty bruise. Under the circumstances, I had to be grateful.

Ms. Readman had fallen to the floor, and desperately scrabbled back toward us while flinging paper walls up with her free hand. Lung stalked after her with such fury that the air itself began to grow hot. Lung's body had begun to change, as scales grew out from skin which had formerly only been tattooed with them. Belatedly, I recalled from Shamus's file that not only did Lung get stronger the more he fought, but that this strength expressed itself via a physical transformation into a form that, if it wasn't an actual dragon, was as close as anyone on Earth would ever see.

"I told you, I'll only be in town a few days!" Ms. Readman wailed. "I'm afraid I just can't join your gang. I've already got a job, you see, so it wouldn't be proper at all!"

The particularly vigorous jet of fire Lung directed at Ms. Readman suggested that he remained entirely unmoved. "Too late for excuses," he snarled through alarmingly sharp teeth. "You are mine now."

Abruptly, all of the as-yet-unburnt paper scattered on the ground behind Lung twitched, then leapt up and twisted together into a massive rope with a crane-game claw on one end. The rope lashed out, and the claw slammed shut on Lung's leg. Before the sheer heat now radiating off Lung could burn away the paper, it whiplashed backward and flung Lung clean across the factory floor in a shot-put hurl. He slammed into the far wall with force that would have been audibly bone-crunching for any normal human, like me. I tried not to think about that.

With an opening created, I hurried toward Ms. Readman, with Shamus following me. Hookwolf, undoubtedly having heard the impact, loped back around in our direction.

Ms. Readman batted out some flames nibbling at the flapping edges of her long coat. "This is just terrible!" she exclaimed as she turned and saw us. "I'm sorry to have gotten you involved."

"Personally, I'm just _thrilled_ to be here," Shamus said, laying on an extra-thick helping of sarcasm. "By the by, here comes our bladed friend. Maybe you can do something about that? I've got jack squat."

I continued to positively smother Hookwolf's eyes in creepy-crawlies, but he'd clearly fixed our position between blinks. He galloped toward us at full speed, and I prepared to leap out of the way once more. Though, it would probably be for the best if he were to go after me, seeing as my costume clearly afforded me some protection. The Empire wouldn't pull their punches much, but they did have to pull them a little - at least according to Shamus, whose word I didn't doubt. If he calculated an attack for a squishy, normal human and got a knifeproof one instead, the surprise might be enough to give us an opening.

Or so I fervently hoped, anyways.

As I steeled myself to meet his charge, Ms. Readman's arms flashed out to meet him, then whirled clockwise. A hulking, yet elegantly assembled paper tiger no smaller than Hookwolf took him in the side in a ferocious pounce. The two of them rolled together in a tangle of tearing paper and slicing steel.

"Paper seems to be no good against these two, I'm afraid," Ms. Readman said, rather morosely, as scraps of her increasingly ragged construct fluttered in every direction. She had fastened the book to her body in a paper sling, which permitted the use of both her arms.

"Speaking of our other problem," Shamus said, "he's looking increasingly pissed off. Which, I'll admit, I wouldn't have thought was possible a minute ago."

Lung had clambered back to his feet on the other side of the room. The flames puffing out of his mouth with every exhalation illuminated his simmering glower.

After a moment to permit his glare to sink in, Lung strode across the floor towards us. Despite the distance, his pace remained measured, suggesting a supreme confidence that he had his prey trapped inextricably within his grasp.

On our other side, Hookwolf tore the remnants of the paper tiger in two with a victorious snarl. We thus found ourselves trapped between a very hot place and a very sharp one. I didn't much care for either option.

"Well, fuck me," Shamus said. She laughed, though it came through a bit sharp. "I definitely wouldn't have listed `simultaneous char-broiling and impalement` very high on my list of expectations for the night."

Ms. Readman shot worried glances in both directions.

"This, er, certainly doesn't look very good," she said. She glanced down at her book. "But I really must get this to safety. Perhaps if I provide a distraction, you two could escape with it?"

"Sold," Shamus said. "Here, gimme."

I finally managed to corral the thought rattling around in my brain and hammer it out.

"Hold on," I said. "We can't just leave you behind for them. Shamus, isn't there something we can do?"

Shamus sighed. "It's a long shot, but there is something," she said. " Ms. Readman cocked her head in interest. I directed a fresh swarm of flies and hornets into Lung with the intent of buying us a few moments, with special attention to his eyes and ears. Lung roared and clawed at his head in irritation, but the heat rolling off him kept crisping my bugs after no more than a few seconds.

"They hate each other, right?" Shamus said. "So they're as likely to fight each other as they are us. We just need to remove ourselves from the equation. If we can get away for even a few seconds, they'll turn on each other. But getting away's the trick, isn't it?"

"Indeed. My paper's almost entirely gone," Ms. Readman said with a mournful shake of the head.

Lung and Hookwolf circled closer, still exactly opposite, with us very uncomfortably in the middle. They eyed each other, with neither seeming to want to be the first one to commit to a charge.

Inspiration suddenly struck me. "As soon as they get close, Ms. Readman, please try to cover their eyes with whatever paper you have," I said, my voice just above a whisper. I arranged every bug under my command still living. They scuttled over the floor or circled through the air behind our opponents, poised to strike. "I'm going to make things as uncomfortable for them as I can. Then we run for that window."

Ms. Readman nodded. "I'll do my best," she said. She adjusted the book in its sling.

Shamus gave me a fierce grin. "Atta girl. Hey, If I don't make it, you've gotta clean up the rest of my papers. I'll haunt the shit out of you if you don't."

Only forty feet-and our distressingly frail bodies-now separated Lung and Hookwolf.

Lung tensed and sprang into a jump impossibly far and fast for any normal human. Hookwolf loped and leapt to match. We scattered in three different directions as the two of them crashed back into the ground. I felt the fresh wave of heat off Lung through my mask. He had begun to seem more reptile than man, and exuded all the presence of a living, walking furnace.

No sooner had their feet touched the ground than Ms. Readman and I struck. Sheets of paper flapped through the air and slapped themselves unerringly over Lung and Hookwolf's eyes as though yanked there by a powerful magnet. In Hookwolf's case, shreds of paper stuck to his eyeballs directly. At the same moment, I lunged forward every last one of my remaining bugs with the goal of sending up a deafening racket directly inside their ear canals.

Both Lung and Hookwolf reared back, swatting at their ears. I broke into a dead sprint away from them, raced across the factory floor, and vaulted the nearest empty windowsill with surprising grace. The bugs I had placed on Shamus and Ms. Readman moments before informed me that the two of them followed right behind me.

We dashed across the street without hesitation. I had to weave out of the way of an onrushing station wagon, which screeched to a halt with an angry blast of its horn. Behind us, there came a roar and the rising whoosh of flame, followed by the ring of metal on metal. We didn't stop running for at least ten blocks.

Ms. Readman came panting to a halt first. "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of shape," she gasped between hurried breaths. "What's more, this text is rather heavy." She hefted the large book clasped firmly in her arms.

"And here I thought you could've been a long-distance runner," Shamus said with a roll of her eyes. "We ought to be safe here. Those two are definitely tearing into each other by now. With Lung involved, we might even see a Protectorate response, if they roll over into an area that's a bit less of an uninhabited dump."

I nodded. A mixture of relief and triumph flooded through my veins. Somehow, our plan had actually worked.

Shamus nodded at me.

"Nice work with the distraction," she said. "You too, paper lady, I guess. Did Lung seriously try to recruit you? He must be getting desperate under all the pressure from the Empire."

"Er, well, I suppose he did," Ms. Readman said, with a sheepish shrug. "I had thought he was simply being polite, you know, so I thought nothing of turning him down. In fact, I thought it was rather lovely for somebody to go out of their way to welcome me to town when I would be staying only a few days. It seems I rather misunderstood the nature of the meeting."

Which was an understatement, to say the least.

Shamus shook her head. "Honestly, I'm amazed that you've made it this far. But the ABB are pretty hard up for cape muscle, and your power's not half bad, so I can see the appeal. Hookwolf's little appearance is on us, so I can't get too mad."

"The wiki really didn't do the weirdness of that transformation justice," I said. "I'm assuming we can consider him the Empire's formal response to our last couple of cases."

"I'd say that's an extremely safe bet," Shamus said. "But we left some egg on his face, and the way Lung was going in there, I'd say he's probably about to put Hookwolf in the hospital, unless our neo-Nazi friend has the brains to skedaddle posthaste." She shrugged. "He is smarter than you'd think at a glance, so even odds he does get away, unfortunately. PHO should have the deets by tomorrow morning, so we won't need to wait long."

Ms. Readman glanced back the way we had come. Due to our having turned several corners, the factory where we had almost become shish kebabs could no longer be seen, and we were too far away to hear any sounds of the fight. "This city is much more dangerous than I had imagined," she said. She held her book closer. "My, that was a close one. That dreadful man almost caught this in one of his fire blasts before we escaped."

Whatever you thought of Ms. Readman's priorities, she certainly knew what was important to her.

Shamus sighed.

"Yes, thank goodness the book is safe," she said. "I don't know what I would have done if it didn't make it out. What a relief. Do we need to check it for injuries?"

"Oh, I've already done so, never fear," Ms. Readman said with an oblivious smile. "Not a scratch! Isn't that wonderful?"

I decided to intervene before Shamus could be driven completely over the top.

"I'm glad we're all safe, but now what? Either gang could have other members out looking for us, couldn't they? I know the Empire has a ton of muscle, especially in these neighborhoods."

Shamus nodded with a grin.

"Sharp as always, Flutter! Yes, we do need to worry about followups, but the ABB and Empire are equally likely to be tangling each other up at this point. You can bet as soon as Kaiser hears the name Lung he and his whole racist mob will jump straight to red alert."

"I hope you're right. After that, we deserve a break. My heart's still trying to jump out of my chest."

"Hope? Pshaw. I'm always right, hon. Not a peep about any rooftop incidents, thank you very much." She turned to Ms. Readman, who still looked rather bemused, as though she'd just woken up, expecting to roll out of bed into her slippers, and thumped onto the cold concrete of a strange city sidewalk instead. "What about you?" Shamus asked. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you this - at least, I really hope I don't - but if Lung's gunning for you, it'd behoove you to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as humanly possible. Ideally, sooner. His gang may be on the back foot thanks to the sheer manpower deficit, but his lieutenants are almost as scary as he is. Frankly speaking, they're liable to mess you up something fierce if they catch you again, and even if they're busy tonight, you can bet your ass that they'll be looking tomorrow."

Ms. Readman nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she said. "I'll have to arrange for an extraction tonight." Her face fell. "But I'll be leaving all my students in the lurch. That's rather terrible of me, don't you think?"

My mask thankfully allowed me to smile as wryly as I cared to.

"I'm sure that they'll be all right," I said. "Hearing about how a teacher got murdered in public by super-powered gangsters probably wouldn't do much to inspire them to stay in school, anyways."

"Yes, yes, you are right, aren't you. That wouldn't do at all," she said, her accent no less refined for all the running and fighting. She shifted the book over to one arm and rummaged about in one of the pockets of her coat. Her eyes widened. "Oh, my, I've entirely forgotten that I picked this up! Here you go, dear." She withdrew Shamus's stun gun, none the worse for wear, from her pocket, and handed it over. Shamus took it with a look of near despair.

"You couldn't have mentioned that _during_ the fight?" she said. "Without this thing, all I'm out here with are my good looks and scathing one-liners."

Ms. Readman tapped her chin, her expression quizzical. "I suppose it must have slipped my mind after the second blast of fire," she said helpfully. Were it absolutely anyone else, the line would have been devastatingly sarcastic. As for Ms. Readman, well, she had probably read about sarcasm in a dictionary at some point.

Shamus's sigh proved her deepest one yet. She pocketed the weapon. "Well, thanks for returning it, anyways. And with the plastic unmelted, no less. Though, that might've made for a neat souvenir."

Personally, the memories of being face-to-face with Lung had scorched me almost as badly as his actual fire, so I doubted I would need any reminders of the encounter anytime soon.

Ms. Readman dug through her pockets once more, and this time came up with an ancient brick of a cellphone which contrived to make even my plastic convenience-store model look cutting-edge by comparison. She punched in enough digits to suggest an international number, then turned away from us to make the call.

"Hello, Mr. Joker? Oh, hello, Ms. Wendy! Yes, I've got the book. Oh, it was the most awful time! I must get out of this town as quickly as I can. There's this horrible dragon man-" She paused and listened for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I will be there. Thank you, Ms. Wendy." She ended the call, and replaced the phone in her pocket. "Thank you for helping me escape those brutes, and for helping me keep this safe," she said. She gave the book an affectionate pat and a satisfied nod. "Meeting you two has been lovely, but I'm afraid I must be going now."

Shamus snorted. "Yeah, it's been a real pleasure," she said. Once again, the sarcasm seemed to sail well over Ms. Readman's head, as she replied with a friendly nod.

"Have a safe trip home," I said, for want of ability to come up with anything better.

Ms. Readman waved cheerfully and took three steps down the street away for us before coming to a halt. She looked into the distance, where the end of the boulevard opened out onto the ocean, then back over her shoulder at us, then back at the ocean. She turned around slowly and cleared her throat.

"Could either of you girls direct me to the Fairfax Building?" she said. "I'm told it is the tallest one in the city."

"Sure thing," Shamus drawled. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "It's that one looming over us that's taller than every other building."

Ms. Readman's face brightened. "Oh, splendid!" she said. "Thank you ever so much!" She dashed past us, her coat flapping in the breeze. I watched her as she hurried down the block across from us. Horns blared as she darted through the next intersection without looking.

"That lady is a real weirdo, and I don't use the term lightly," Shamus said. "I'll be amazed if she makes it back to Britain alive, and not because Lung is on her case. Do you know, I'm pretty sure that she's looking for that building to jump off the top."

"But using her powers, right?"

Shamus shrugged. "I think so, but with her? Jury's out, my friend. Her encyclopedia's missing a few entries, if you catch my drift." Shamus checked her very expensive wristwatch. "Anyways, we should be going. A full-on flare-up between the ABB and E88 should be going by now, and we do _not_ want to be caught in the middle of that, trust me."

"One encounter with Lung sounds like enough for a lifetime to me," I said. "Bakuda and Oni Lee are his lieutenants, right?"

Shamus nodded. "They're both incredibly bad news," she said. "Especially Bakuda. Oni Lee strikes me as the kind of guy who follows orders, though he's certainly no saint; kind of an amoral enforcer, if you will. Bakuda, on the other hand? That chick is N-U-T-S _nuts_. I've never run into her in person, and I'll be just thrilled if I can keep that streak going until whenever the Protectorate gets fed up and finally ices her."

"That's all I need to hear," I said. "I like my insides on the inside. Let's get back to the office."

Our trip back across town featured quite a bit of skulking in shadows and darting down alleyways, but thanks to my bugs and Shamus's intuition, we reached the office without further incident. After changing out of our costumes, we headed out the hidden passage in the back door, locked up, and snuck through the passageway to the basement of Lisa's apartment building.

A quick trip up the stairs and a twist of Lisa's key later, we were in her apartment. I strung my insectoid tripwire across the entrance and the surrounding block. Lisa bustled about in her gleaming stainless-steel kitchen for a few minutes preparing tea, then emerges carrying a mugful of it in each hand. Naturally, she hadn't needed to ask what kind I'd like. I nodded gratefully as I took mine. With a deep, relieved exhalation, Lisa collapsed into her very large, very gray, and very generously padded easy chair. She swung her legs up onto the wooden surface of the coffee table which squatted across from the chair. I myself opted to sink into the equally soft and equally expensive couch, and to luxuriate in the sensation of not having to worry about being burned alive.

Lisa yawned. "Man, what a couple of days it's been," she said. "I don't know if I've ever been more relieved to be done with a case." She craned her torso forward. "Can you still see the egg on my face, or did I manage to wash it all off?"

"All's well that ends well," I said. "Speaking of endings, what about our client? If he even still merits the term, anyways."

Lisa made a disgusted face. "He's rabbited by now, undoubtedly. Anybody wily enough to pull that stunt in the first place won't be coming back to provoke us further when we've already lost what they want. I'll have to see if I can't track him down online, maybe turn the FBI on to him for some heinous shit." Her grin was positively predatory. "Now, that sounds like _exactly_ the kind of stress relief I need after this mess."

"I won't be much help there, but if you need any bugs sicced on this guy, give me a call," I said. "I'm a little resentful over the whole mess too."

Lisa smiled, pleased. "Taylor, the hardened private eye! Next you'll be tossing back highballs while you oil your Colt and mutter about the 'detective's code'. I must be a good influence. No, don't answer that."

"I may have started feeling the urge to lurk in dive bars, but I still draw the line at fedoras," I said. I looked out across the room. Through Lisa's broad and impeccably tasteful windows, the lights of Downtown glimmered. As I took in the sight, a worry from earlier nagged at me once more.

"If the Empire sent Hookwolf, they're seriously after us now, right?" I said. "What can we do about that? Even handling him alone might be almost impossible, but the whole gang? I want to believe we can do it, but I'm concerned, I can admit."

Lisa's expression grew serious, and she nodded. "I won't say that you're wrong to be, because obviously that would be ridiculous. We're clearly on their radar now, if they thought we rated a visit from Hookwolf." She sunk back into her chair, her gaze distant, as though mulling over a particularly thorny problem. "If tonight does turn into a blow-up between the gangs, that'll necessarily drag in the Protectorate and New Wave, so I expect that the goose-steppers will be too busy to bother with us for a while. We're absolutely going to need some long-term insurance, though. It's time I get working on that."

"Insurance? What did you have in mind for uncovering it?"

She grinned.

"Oh, you know me. I'll figure something out. I'm _very_ good at that. More's the trouble for them, right?" She sipped at her tea.

I smiled back at her. "I almost feel sorry for them."


	21. Turncoat 5-1

The door of my gym locker swung shut to reveal a perky, blonde, freckled grin.

"Hiya, Taylor," Lisa said.

I raised an eyebrow in response. By now, I knew better than to ask how she had found me.

We stood inside Arcadia High's girls' locker room, which nestled snugly up against the gym. Freshly-scrubbed linoleum and thick coats of forest-green paint combined to create exactly the kind of vaguely gross atmosphere you would expect out of any self-respecting locker room. A faint reek of dried sweat put the finishing touches on the image.

I placed my now-unnecessary, school supply standard-issue lock into an outside pouch on my backpack, stuffed my gym bag into the main pouch, and zipped it all shut.

Lisa pouted. "Aww, c'mon, you mean you're not even going to ask this time? My showmanship isn't what it used to be."

A few of my other classmates still lingered about the room, toweling off after an extremely brief shower or hurriedly scribbling out some unfinished homework which was no doubt due next period, but none gave Lisa so much as a second glance. When you went to a school as big as Arcadia, you expected to see kids you didn't recognize popping up just about everywhere. I would have been willing to bet that many of my own classmates might not recognize me if I crossed paths with them in the hallway.

I swung my backpack up onto my shoulders. "I guess I must be getting jaded," I said. "It's inevitable, right?"

Lisa shook a finger at me. "No, no, that's not going to work for me at all. I'll have to find some other impressionable youth to dazzle with my remarkable wit and sleuthing talents."

"I will say that I wouldn't have expected you to show up during gym class. I'm guessing that one wasn't your favorite."

Lisa snorted. "Hey, now you're horning in on my turf, Miss Detective," she said. "But then, doesn't everybody hate P.E.? Although, if I'd put more work into it, my harrowing escapes might be a little bit less harrowing. Maybe I should follow your example, Marathon Girl."

The harsh electronic chime of the bell rang out, and we floated out into a hallway along with fifteen hundred other teenagers.

"Marathon Girl," I mused. "I bet there's a cape using that name. It has a nice ring to it."

Lisa waved a hand in derision. "Oh, people eat up any name that has 'Girl' in it," she said. "They're way more popular than 'Woman', for some reason, even if you're way too old to be trying to sound like a teenager."

"Do you think Glory Girl will keep her name?" I asked as we mounted the nearest staircase _en route_ to the top floor, where my chemistry class awaited.

"Oh, she seems the type, all right. She'll still be trying to squeeze into that costume when she's 45. Plus, what could she call herself while keeping the theme and alliteration - Wonder Woman?" Lisa shook her head. "Way too corny." We rounded the second-floor landing in the midst of a yawning, giggling, cellphone-checking stream. Lisa looked up the staircase at the fourth-floor landing above us.

"We're short on time, so I'll get to the point. Be a doll and come by the office after school, would you? We've got a prospective client whom I think you're really going to want to meet."

"Are we sure that they're not part of some international espionage ring this time?" I did my best to deliver the line with an entirely straight face.

Lisa smirked. "Okay, I deserved that, I'll admit. No, this one's totally on the level. I made sure to do some extra vetting this time. Fool me once, and all that. This one's squarely in the good deeds department. I'm done with the Indiana Jones crap for a while, as thrilling as re-sorting and re-filing all of my papers for the last two weeks has been."

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," I said. "If you think they're worth our time, that's all I need to hear. I'll be there. Should I come straight from school?"

Lisa nodded. "You betcha," she said. "I stashed your outfit in the back exit of the office, in case anyone's already there once you come by. Just head in through the usual route from my place and you'll be golden."

We surmounted the last of the stairs and merged into the cross-stream of students moving between classes. The current flowed noticeably thinner and quicker now, with only a minute or two left before the next bell rang to announce that you had better already be in your seat.

"Will you be hanging out here for a while? I can recommend a couple of library computers with some emphatically non-educational games installed, but you'll have to talk your way into the computer lab," I said.

"Eh, games don't do much for me," Lisa said. "I always end up having to suppress a lot of garbage nagging about glitches and lazy programmers. Maybe I'll go sample the delicacies at the cafeteria," she said with a chuckle. "I've got to make sure that they're treating you alright here, after all."

"In that case, do yourself a favor and get out of here early," I said. "At least one of us can, that way." I motioned to the dull wooden door at which we had just arrived. Mr. Bleekley always liked to close the door a minute before the bell rang again, in a sort of passive-aggressive commentary on punctuality. Lisa probably could have derived a lot more psychological meaning from it, but I just found it rude. "I'd better get inside before the bell rings. This teacher is a real fanatic about being late."

"Far be it from me to land my partner in the principal's office," Lisa said with a magnanimous gesture. "I'll see you after school, Taylor. Stay in school, kids, and all that." She swaggered off down the hallway with a jaunty wave.

I watched her go with only the slightest twinge of jealousy at her freedom to go where she liked and do what she wanted without regard for the constraints of everyday society. Simply walking out of school and setting myself up in a quiet cafe or sunny park would have been delightful, but after going to all this trouble to stay in school in the first place, it would have been a waste to drop out now, with my school life now halfway tolerable.

I braced myself for forty-five minutes of pure, unadulterated chemistry, and slipped through the door just before the bell.

For the rest of the day, the tingle of anticipation brought on by the promise of a new case made focusing on my work a nigh-impossible proposition. Though I made my best effort, my mind kept slipping back to theorize about what Lisa might have found this time, or who we might be up against. Though I had no desire to face down Lung or Hookwolf again anytime soon, the fact that I'd gone head-to-head with them and not only survived, but escaped entirely intact, gave me a good deal of perhaps-unwarranted new confidence.

Come the ringing of the last bell, I was off like a rocket. I could only restrain myself from running the mile or so between Arcadia and the office by sternly reminding myself that a gangly teen sprinting through the afternoon pedestrian traffic would attract more attention than was entirely healthy for a gangly teen who also happened to have a cape for an alter ego.

I bounded up the steps, then down into the basement, opened the locked back exit door with a twist of my office key, and stepped inside, closing the door after me. True to Lisa's word, my costume waited there, neatly folded on a small bench. A quick look at my watch told me that I still had time, and a quick sweep of the office with a few of my bugs told me that Lisa remained alone in the office so far. One hurried change later, I stepped into the main room of our office.

Shamus, fully clad in mask, hat, and trench-coat, looked up from her desk and beamed. "Just the girl I wanted to see!" she said. "You're here just in time. Our client should be coming through that door any moment, I'd say."

The insectoid tripwire which I had thrown up, as always, around the office confirmed that a moment later, as the outer door swung open and a figure made their way across the waiting room. The bugs I had nestled unobtrusively on our visitor's legs gave an impression of short, unsure steps. Having not so long ago been on the other side of the door myself, I could empathize.

"I think they're here," I said.

Shamus flashed me a thumbs-up. "My human perimeter alarm!" she said. "If I could just find a way to clone you, we'd put those security companies out of business. Now time to put our best feet forward, and all that!" She sprang up out of her seat, and bounded over to the door with a whirl of her coat. Just as our visitor reached for the doorknob, Shamus swung the door open. I couldn't tell from my position behind m desk, but I felt certain a cheek-to-cheek smile stretched across her face.

"Hiya!" she said to our visitor, whom the open door revealed to be a middle-aged woman with close-cropped black hair and sad eyes. I noted, not without amusement, that Shamus had used my detection to bolster her own prescience in the eyes of our prospective client. Not that I begrudged her the right, of course. The stronger her reputation, the more effective we would be out on cases. I judiciously settled myself at my desk in an effort to present a more professional, and less unnerving, appearance.

Shamus stepped back from the open door and gestured inside. "Please, come in," she said. "Thanks for dropping by."

Our guest nodded, and stepped inside. While I could hardly consider myself an expert on body language, hers suggested someone deeply uncomfortable in the presence of capes. Although I had been one myself for only a few months, I found it harder and harder to maintain memories of my non-powered perspective in the face of so many confrontational run-ins with other capes.

Shamus stuck out a hand, an easy grin on her face. "I'm Shamus, but you probably guessed that already from the outfit," she said. "You'll have to pardon my little affectations." She turned to me with an elaborate gesture. "This here is my partner, Flutter. She's new in town, but she's already making a name for herself in law-abiding circles, and quite a different one among the ranks of the less civic-minded in town."

My relative dearth of professional business experience left me at a bit of a loss on the best way to greet a new client, particularly while seated at a desk, and after such an introduction. I settled on a polite wave. "Hello," I said. "Welcome to our office."

The woman swallowed her unease, straightening out her posture a bit, and nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate you two taking the time to meet me." The corners of her mouth twitched upward in a sad smile. "Especially someone like me. I'm sure your usual clients are a bit more high-end."

Shamus wagged a finger. "You might be surprised!" she said. "We pride ourselves on maintaining a diverse clientele." She gestured to a metal folding chair which faced the right angle formed by our two desks, so as to enable our guests to see both of us at once without necessitating the placement of our desks side-by-side, which would have been a bit awkward for when just the two of us occupied the office.

The woman nodded, and gingerly took a seat. She rested her handbag on the floor next to her chair, and clasped her fingers together on her knees.

"I should explain why I'm here, right?" she said.

Shamus nodded. "I'm afraid even I'm not quite that good a detective," she said with a chuckle. "Please, bring us up to speed. We'll talk the details after."

The woman shifted in her seat, then spoke. "My name is Rebecca Heaylen," she said. "I work for a local homeless outreach group. We're primarily based out of Downtown, but we work all over Brockton. Two weeks ago, one of my contacts, a man named Jason, went missing." She looked down and sighed. "Sad to say, but that's not unprecedented, so in and of itself it's not why I'm here. I went to the police and strong-armed them into opening an investigation, but they didn't turn anything up. I even went around to all of his friends - at least, the ones that I knew-and got everything I could out of them, with no luck. I hate to say it, but at that point, all I could do was hope that that at best, he had decided to hop on a bus somewhere without telling me. It does happen, you know."

"But that's not why you're here," Shamus said. "Something else happened, didn't it?"

She nodded. "You're right, it did. Two days ago, while I was walking through Downtown on my way home, I saw him. I didn't recognize him at first, though, because he looked like almost a completely different person. Clean, new clothes, a fashionable haircut, even brand-new shoes. It was like he'd gone on one of those makeover reality TV shows, you know?"

This didn't yet seem like a bad thing to me, but Rebecca had more to say.

"So, of course, you were wondering from whence this sudden windfall came, and why he hadn't mentioned it," Shamus prompted.

"Yes, of course," Rebecca said. As she recalled the memory, her look grew serious, and her eyebrows drew together. "But when I went up to him, he didn't even want to talk to me. Sorry, no, that's not the best way to put it. He acted like he didn't recognize me at all, at first. I could have sworn that I was a complete stranger to him. Then I asked him about the clothes, where the money had come from, but he stonewalled me completely. At that point, he acted like he recognized me, and tried to fob me off with some cock-and-bull story about a sudden inheritance." She shook her head and frowned again. "Still, even then, I got this feeling that he didn't recognize me. In fact, I could nearly have sworn it. That's the part about this that bothers me the most, even more so than wherever he might have gotten the money from. I've worked with this man for years, but there was no recognition in his eyes whatsoever, not even a glimmer. How can you explain that?"

I certainly didn't have an answer for her, but I also found myself not entirely convinced by the idea that anybody could read other people so effectively as to accurately divine their internal emotions. Even if the eyes were the window to the soul, that didn't mean that we would recognize what we see when we look through the window. Did Shamus share my skepticism?

Shamus leaned forward and steepled her fingers on her desk. She claimed to have put hours into practicing that pose in order to appear as intellectually dominant as possible. I still wasn't sure if she was messing with me on that one. Her ability to sell jokes with an unfailingly straight face left me at a disadvantage.

"But still, why come to us?" she said. "I admit, if true, that all sounds a bit odd, but I'm not a hundred percent clear on how we enter into the picture here."

"To be honest, you weren't my first choice," the woman said.

Well, at least she was honest.

"I went to New Wave first, actually," Rebecca said. "I thought I might have better luck with them than the Protectorate, since they don't have the same level of bureaucratic inertia." She scowled. "I've worked with local government long enough to know that when it comes to the homeless, officials love stringing up red tape for the sake of sheltering 'productive' citizens' feelings a lot more than they love actually helping vulnerable people."

Regardless of what I thought about the truth behind what had happened to her client, the deadly seriousness of her voice suggested real concern over this man's fate. I revised my opinion of the circumstances a bit in favor of something abnormal actually having happened.

"Anyways, I met with Brandish, and she suggested that you and Flutter might be better suited to this type of work than her team. She told me you two were smart, tough, and reliable, in those exact words."

I felt myself blush behind my mask, and couldn't quite sort out whether it came from pride or embarrassment. Shamus turned to me with a wink.

"Well, I'm flattered," she said, "Even then, if you don't mind me asking, why New Wave instead of going straight to a plain old non-cape private eye? I'm not averse to working a non-powered case, and God help me if I ever become one of those sneering elitists, but a cape private eye tends to attract cape attention and cape problems. I could even recommend you one or two guys who ought to be able to run someone down while keeping a much lower profile."

Rebecca scooted up to the edge of her chair. Her eyes sparked with conviction. "I'm absolutely certain that Jason didn't recognize me," she said. "I don't know if he's caught up in some kind of cape gang war, or what it could possibly be, but our whole interaction made my hair stand on end. What he's gotten himself into is cape business, I just know it. I'm sorry I can't offer any proof, but you've got to take my word for it."

"Fair enough," Shamus said. She looked at me. "So, partner, what do you think? Do we have room in the schedule for this one?"

Her comment about the schedule was a polite fiction for the sake of appearances, of course, since we had had absolutely nothing else since our run-in with Ms. Readman and her book two weeks ago. My stomach churned a bit at the thought that Shamus had left the decision to me. I didn't want to get her involved in a case that turned out to be a disaster, or even a waste of our time.

But with that said, I felt there could be only one possible decision on this one. After all, Brandish had thought enough of this case, and of us, to send Rebecca here.

I nodded. "I think we do," I said, attempting to pitch my voice to sound as non-threatening as possible.

Shamus clapped her hands and turned back to Rebecca. "There you have it! We're on the case. Or will be, shortly. No need to worry about the fees right now-I promise we won't break the bank. Now, I assume you have a photo of the missing party?"

The woman produced and unfurled a twice-folded photo which looked to have been run off an office printer. "I hope this will do," she said. She handed the photo to Shamus, who then angled it in my direction. A middle-aged man with an unkempt, graying beard and shabby clothes smiled back out at me from the page. Virtually nothing else about him stood out. Locating this particular needle in Brockton's middle-aged male haystack would be quite the challenge, it seemed.

"That should do the trick," Shamus said. "Consider us officially on the case, then. We can't promise exactly what we might turn up once we start looking, but rest assured that this will be our number-one priority."

Rebecca sagged back into her chair with relief. "That's wonderful to hear," she said. "I feel as though a tremendous weight is off my shoulders." A sad, quiet smile spread on her face. "You'd think after all my years of doing this I'd be more cynical, but somehow, with each year that goes by, I find that the ones I lose sting me even more. Jason is a good man, and he deserves better than whatever he's been caught up in. I hope you'll be able to find him."

"We'll do our best," I said, not wanting to give the impression of being some sort of near-mute freak. With powers like mine, I couldn't afford to spread that kind of reputation around. No matter how useful Shamus thought it might be, I wasn't eager to cultivate the image of a ruthless triggerwoman.

"Right we will, Flutter," Shamus said. She winked at Rebecca. "And, let me tell you, our best is pretty damn good indeed. Your case is in good hands."

Rebecca smiled, then squirmed in her chair ever-so-slightly. "About your fees," she said. "I'm sure you two must not come cheap, and I know hearing that someone's job is working with non-profits doesn't inspire confidence in fiscal solvency, but I do have a fair bit of money saved up. I'm sure I can afford your fee for at least a few days-"

Shamus cut her off with a magnanimous wave of the hand.

"We're a bit of a special outfit," she said. "We run more of a sliding fee scale, if you will. Especially for our friends over at New Wave."

We probably didn't quite rate the label "friends", but I supposed Shamus thought that it couldn't do any harm to circulate the idea that we were rather well-connected.

"So, we'll find the guy, and then we can talk payment," Shamus went on. "It won't break the bank, so don't worry. And anyways, if we can't find this guy within a week, I'll eat my hat. And it's a nice hat, too."

Rebecca seemed at a loss for words. I could empathize. Shamus could have been doing high-powered investigative work for major multinational corporations from a Park Avenue penthouse, but instead, she crawled around the streets of Brockton Bay with me, taking cases that she knew full well had little to no remunerative value. Not for the first time, I felt a surge of gratitude to have her as a friend. As my only friend, still, if I were being honest. I still couldn't entirely fathom why she'd decided to help me out of the nightmare of my life at Winslow and then help me make my way in the world of capes, but I owed her more than I could say.

Rebecca finally gathered herself together to the point of coherent speech. "I don't know what to say besides 'thank you'," she said, her expression soft. She met eyes with first Shamus, then me. "Even if the news turns out bad, I can take it. I just need to know."

"And know you will, just as soon as we do," Shamus said. She slid open a desk drawer and produced a palm-sized rectangle of off-white cardboard which appeared to be a business card. Since when did we have business cards?

Shamus handed the card to Rebecca. "You can reach me at this number if anything comes up," she said. "Don't hesitate to call with any new information. Even the seemingly smallest fact can hold a really incredible amount of weight if you examine it from the right perspective."

Rebecca tucked the card into her purse. "You'll hear from me as soon as I learn anything new," she said. "Thank you again, ladies. This means more than you can know, truly."

With a last exchange of pleasantries, Rebecca made her goodbyes and departed. Just in case, I tagged her with a gnat and monitored her trip down the block until she stepped outside the range of my power. Was that a bit paranoid? Maybe, but after the ambush Ms. Readman staged in our office, I felt justified in effecting a little extra vetting around our clients.

Lisa held the picture out before her and furrowed her brows in deep concentration, which meant that her power was currently tugging at every last thread of potential information to see which could be spun out into leads. I said nothing, to avoid polluting the flow of input. After a minute, she sighed, tossed the picture aside, and slouched back in her seat.

"Well, the good news is that she isn't lying," Lisa said. "She's not as skilled a dissembler as Mr. Rare Book was. Even with him, I could tell he was holding something back, but this lady put all her cards on the table. If she's nuts, she's sincerely nuts."

"Or maybe she's such a good liar that even you can't tell?"

Lisa balled up a loose piece of paper from her desk and lobbed it at me with a slow overhand toss. The paper smacked against my right lens and dropped to the ground. It did manage to make me blink.

"Nobody's _that_ good, you dick," she said. She laughed. "I get us hung upside-down one time and now I can't do anything right, huh?"

I smiled behind my mask. One of the nice things about having Lisa for a friend was her ability to parse facial expressions even when unable to see them directly.

"I suppose I can overlook it," I said. "So, what's our game plan for this one? Finding this guy sounds like it won't be easy."

Lisa waved her hands. "Yeah, it'll be a pain, I admit," she said. "Honestly, I'm still not sure that there's really anything to this at all, even if she believes that there is. I mean, where's the evidence, right? She might just be too close to this one to keep perspective."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Do you really think so? It sounded fairly fishy to me."

Lisa pooh-poohed my concern. "Who knows? I can promise you that I'll keep an open mind, at least. If we find this guy and he's secretly been made Fuhrer of the Empire or something, I'm prepared to admit that there may be something to this case."

"I'm glad to hear it," I said. While Lisa might have her reservations, and for good reason, I personally felt confident of the necessity of our involvement.

Lisa stretched, yawned, and swung her legs up onto her desk. "You're the conscience of this operation, hon, so I've got no choice but to defer to you on this stuff. Plus, I'll admit that whatever is going on here does have me a bit intrigued, even if it turns out to be something completely cape-free. Now, was that chemistry class as boring as I imagined?"

I tugged off my mask, and tossed in on the desk before me. I could rely on my bugs to give me advance warning of any visitors, which would give me plenty of time to put it back on. Even if Lisa could interpret my facial expressions through it with reasonable accuracy, just sitting around and having an extended conversation while wearing one still felt weird.

"We got to do some experiments today, so it wasn't the worst thing in the world," I said. "That said, still definitely not my favorite subject. What did you do for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Oh, nothing too exciting. Mostly I just roamed around the school and chatted people up. It was pretty much as boring as you'd expect. I can't imagine having to spend every day inside that dank, gray prison." She shuddered. "Maybe college would be better, but I doubt it."

"You don't have plans to go?" I said.

"What, college? Nah. It seems like kind of a waste of time, you know?" She tapped her forehead. "What's the point in higher education when you've already got higher powers squatting inside your head?"

"It's my understanding that a lot of people go to college for something other than the education," I said with a wry smile.

"Well, I never!" Lisa said, fanning herself in mock shock. "Surely you're not suggesting that our peers would have anything but the most sober educational aspirations." She shook her head with mournful solemnity, then snorted, which quickly devolved into a full-fledged laugh. "I could do the party scene, true, but don't you think it'd feel way too trivial after all this?" She waved her hands around the office. "I mean, how am I supposed to go do anything as mundane as knocking back beers at a frat party after crossing swords with superpowered gangs? There's just no way. I think my head might explode from sheer boredom if I tried, honestly. Imagine having to listen to navel-gazing twenty-year-old wannabe philosophers spout about the 'psychological impact' of capes on society when their biggest experience with one comes from watching old Youtube clips. I might try to wring their necks on the spot."

"I can see your point, but I think I might still go, if I can afford it," I said. "I'd like to have the experience for at least a little while, even if it's not all that it's cracked up to be."

"Hey, I respect it," Lisa said. "And don't worry about paying for it. We can always land a couple of big fish and really wring the money out of them. Uh, in a Robin Hood way, though." She held up her left hand with her pointer and middle finger crossed. "I'll swear on it. Although, there's plenty of morally dubious people with too much money hanging around Brockton who deserve a little fleecing, anyways."

I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I'll just get a second job," I said. "Being a barista always sounded like good life experience to me."

"Aww, don't be like that. There's nothing wrong with squeezing some of these old assholes for a little extra. Think of it as income redistribution, right? Totally above-board."

"Naturally," I said.

Lisa chuckled. "Tough crowd. Oh, did I mention that I'm pretty sure I have a job writing for the Arcadia High paper now? I popped into their room to kill some time, and the chief editor was there." She smirked. "I'm pretty sure that the chief editor is also the only editor, but I guess it sounds more impressive if you frame it like that."

"Arcadia High has a paper?" I asked, mildly surprised at having not yet heard of it in the couple of months since I had started. The school exuded such a well-heeled and well-supported vibe that, upon reflection, I couldn't be surprised at all. Arcadia was just the kind of school you'd expect to have all the affectations of a college in miniature.

"See, this is why they need me," Lisa said. "I'll get you a copy so you can see my big front-page exposé in the next issue. I'm gonna blow the doors right off that school with some serious hard-hitting journalism, just you watch me."

"I'm looking forward to it. I guess that'll be your first and last issue, though, right? They'll definitely want to find out who wrote anything that explosive in a high school paper."

Lisa sniggered. "Oh, I'm going to insist that my work be published as an anonymous contributor. I've already got all the read needed on Mr. Editor. A couple bats of the eyelashes and I could get him to publish an article personally smearing the principal. Hell, maybe even the district superintendent."

I almost felt sorry for the guy. An average high schooler set against Lisa would be no contest at all.

The conversation turned to my school life in general. Lisa and I exchanged jokes and laughs as I filled her in on the absurdly petty yet all-encompassing adolescent drama of high school. Amidst the easy comfort of talking about nothing much in particular with a good friend, I very nearly lost track of the time. A quick glance at my watch showed that it was much later than I had thought.

I stood up to go. "Sorry to have to run, but my dad wanted me to come home early tonight to help him do some housework. I think he's finally over the excitement of me having something to do after school besides coming straight home every day."

Lisa waved a hand. "Go on, get. I'll do some investigating tomorrow while you're chained to your desk, and then we can meet up to discuss the brilliance of my undoubtedly amazing insights. Seeya tomorrow, Taylor."

I smiled. "See you then," I said, and left.


	22. Turncoat 5-2

Per the request Lisa had texted me, I made my way to the Arcadia High newspaper room during my morning free period. I pushed open the door to reveal a decent-size classroom with its floor covered by several large, teacher-style desks, each topped with a computer. Newspaper clippings of every size and description, all seemingly from the _Arcadia High Advisor_, covered the dark green walls. Yes, Arcadia High had a paper called the _Advisor_. Apparently alliteration was a key tenet of high school journalism.

Not at all to my surprise, Lisa sat comfortably behind one of the computers, clacking away at the keyboard with aplomb. She waved to me as I entered.

"Hiya, Taylor," she said, the same easy grin as always stretched across her face. "Small world, huh?"

I quirked an eyebrow. "You actually did worm your way into writing that article?"

She laughed. "What, did you think I wouldn't? I'm a woman of my word." She waggled her fingers over the keyboard. "And believe me, this is gonna be juicy, let me tell you. Guess who got the scoop on which local business are fronting for the Empire?"

"I guess I should've known better than to doubt," I said. "But what kind of high school newspaper is going to run an article like that? Isn't that like serious investigative journalism?"

Lisa tapped her forehead. "Well, the club president _really _wants to go to college for journalism, and he kept harping on about how he wanted something really serious, So, I figured I'd give it to him. The guy's either crazy or self-interested enough to run it. Hey, maybe both, right? I don't judge."

"And he really hasn't figured out you don't go here?"

Lisa chuckled and shook her head. "Hey, it's a big school. Plus, he's totally into me, so that might help a bit, y'know?"

I shook my head. "You are shameless, do you know that?" I said with mock scorn.

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," Lisa said. "Anyways, I wanted to let you know that I've got a lead on the case I'll run down during the day. If it pans out, I think we may be able to clean things up this afternoon. Got time to swing by the office after school?"

"C'mon, you already know I have nothing but time," I said. "It's a pretty light week as far as homework goes."

Lisa beamed. "Great! I don't expect there'll be too much to this case, so hopefully we can wrap it up today or tomorrow. Missing persons stuff isn't usually nearly as exciting as it sounds, even one with a bit of a wrinkle like this."

"I hope so," I said. "The smoother the better, as far as I'm concerned. My nerves still haven't quite recovered from that run-in with Hookwolf and Lung."

"I've got some pretty vivid memories of that myself," Lisa said with a grimace. "But all's well that ends well, right?"

I nodded, then shifted on one foot. This next part was going to be a little awkward, but I wanted to say it.

Lisa quirked an eyebrow. "C'mon, whatever it is, out with it. You know I hate the waiting."

"I, uh, just wanted to say thanks," I said. "You know, for everything, and for being my friend. A few months ago, I never would've expected to be in a place this much better mentally, you know? I actually enjoy getting up in the morning now. So, thanks."

Lisa's smile was warm and entirely genuine. "Hey, it's nothing, really. I'm the one who should be thanking you for providing me with such a kick-ass partner. Like I said, doing all this on my own was tough, like really tough. Having you to count on's made a my life a hell of a lot better, believe me."

"Thanks," I said. "Sorry to get all mushy on you like that, but I've been meaning to tell you."

Lisa nodded. "I appreciate it, really. Now, with that said, what's the juicy gossip? This is high school, you gotta have some good stuff for me. I might take up a society column on the side, you know."

We chatted back and forth until the chime of the bell, at which point I walked Lisa to her preferred discreet point of exit before heading to my class.

Later that day, after the final bell, I forged through the sea of kids flooding Arcadia's main exit and debouched onto the comparatively vast expanse of the flat courtyard. A brisk walk carried me across the intervening blocks to our office building, where I entered and snuck in the rear, as usual. As I hurried down to the basement, I set up my usual insectoid sensor network, the formation of which had now become almost an afterthought. In the passageway, I hurriedly pulled on my costume, unlocked the rear door with a twist of my key, and stepped through, pulling it shut behind me.

I found myself greeted by an empty office. In fact, a dark and empty office, illuminated only by the flickering yellow-orange light of the exposed incandescent bulb which hung from the ceiling in the hallway behind me. Our desks threw harsh shadows against the wan facing of the office walls. On the far side of the office, the frosted glass which looked onto our waiting room had turned murky with shadow. Being in the basement as it was, even the waiting room got very little natural light, and our office got almost none at all.

Lisa wasn't here? I frowned, and stepped over to the light switch, careful to use my bugs as a sort of fall-avoidance system, mapping out the floor to ensure that I didn't trip over any unseen objects lurking admits the shadow. Even if no one else was there to see me go down, it would still feel pretty humiliating. Plus, Lisa would undoubtedly know with one look at me, and I'd never hear the end of it.

I flicked on the switch for the overhead light, and blinked as our bulbous ceiling lamp shone out, bathing the room in its customary level of illumination.

I opened the door to the waiting room, just to check if Lisa might possibly have fallen asleep on the old love seat we had there. To hear her tell it, that had happened at least a couple of times since she began her career. The waiting room, however, proved to be just as deserted as the office and almost as dark, lit only by the gray light of a skyscraper's shadow filtering in through a tiny slit window set almost at the ceiling in the wall above the exterior door. The love seat sat entirely empty of any snoozing detectives.

I closed the waiting room door and perched on my desk as I puzzled over the question of Lisa's whereabouts. It was possible, of course, that she had just run out to grab something to eat, or perhaps to use the building's bathroom, but wouldn't she have left a note? Simply up and vanishing didn't seem like her at all. What's more, I would have expected her to leave the lights on, since she would have known I would be on my way.

I shook my head in an effort to clear away the speculation. I felt ridiculous, and more than a little embarrassed. Lisa didn't owe me a minute-by-minute explanation of her activities. I was old enough - she could reasonably expect me to be able to take care of myself if something had come up. She was on an investigation, after all, and of course that took priority. I was acting way too clingy for my own good.

Resolved to pack away such pathetic thoughts, I retrieved my backpack from the back passageway and, after locking both the exterior door and the door to the waiting room, pulled out my Algebra II textbook to get started on my homework. Math exercises lacked somewhat as a substitute for a missing persons case, but I might as well make the most of the time while I waited. Lisa would undoubtedly show up soon, hopefully to fill me in on a major breakthrough.

I passed nearly two hours in the office. After about an hour and a half, I had exhausted the supply of even my most mind-numbingly tedious homework, and had to spend the last half-hour preparing for a Chemistry test coming up next week. While I now found myself more academically prepared for the upcoming challenges than I had been in some time, that did nothing to relieve the tiny, yet very real ball of unease which had begun to nibble ever-so-slightly at my stomach.

After two hours, I had to accept that whatever had delayed Lisa meant she wouldn't be able to put in an appearance at all this afternoon. There didn't seem to be much more point to sitting around the office instead of simply calling it quits and heading home.

I retrieved my cellphone and switched it on. A smooth electronic power-on chime full the emptiness of the office for a moment. As soon as the startup screen cleared, I checked my messages. No texts. Normally, that wouldn't exactly surprise me, since Lisa and Brandish were the only people to even know of the phone's existence. Lisa typically preferred to communicate with me face-to-face, and I couldn't even imagine a universe in which Carol Dallon might send me a text message.

Under the circumstances, though, it seemed as though Lisa might have sent me a text explaining the sudden change in plans. I could readily admit that I didn't have much experience with the world of adolescent texting, but I was given to understand that any teenager worth their salt could fire off text messages at the speed and regularity of a machine gun.

There I went with the negative thoughts again. With some effort, I forced them down once again, and hoped that this time they might stay bottled up. I'd practically never sent a text in my life, so how could I possibly justify moping over not getting one? It was completely absurd, if I were being honest with myself.

If this is what texting did to teenagers, maybe all the complaints I heard about it had some merit after all. Anyways, nobody could stay chained to their cellphone 24/7. There were any number of reasons why Lisa might not have had the time or inclination to send a text. I paged into my phone's settings, switched it to mute, and stuffed it into the deepest recesses of my backpack. Even though she hadn't texted me yet, that didn't preclude her from sending one later. Bringing the phone home could get uncomfortable very quickly if Dad found out about it, so I'd just have to make sure he didn't. With a case going, I couldn't afford not to stay in touch with Lisa. We had been in enough life-or-death scrapes recently for me to know she might need to be bailed out of some pretty ugly situations, and no doubt she'd rather call me than New Wave. I didn't want to text her just yet, though. That might come across as desperation, rather than friendly concern.

After having stored my phone, I swept the area with my bugs one last time. Nada. Wherever Lisa was, it definitely wasn't here. I switched off the lights, locked the door, and hoped that nothing had gone wrong.

I managed to get through the night at home without Dad sniffing out the cellphone I had illicitly smuggled onto the premises. It turned out that spending the entirety of the night and the next morning in a queasy state of unease at the prospect of discovery had been entirely pointless, as my phone remained as silent as the grave. My uneasiness subsided after leaving home in the sunny warmth of a summer morning, only to gradually increase throughout the school day as Lisa's smirking face was nowhere to be found within Arcadia High. With the ringing of the final bell, I hurried to the office with an alacrity even greater than my usual quickened step.

Before I even arrived in the back entrance, my bugs had effectively confirmed what I had feared, but I had to see with my own eyes. As I cracked the back door open, once again, darkness greeted me. The office was completely empty once again.

At this point, my thoughts had shifted from nagging insecurity to genuine concern for Lisa. I had no problem believing that she might drop off the face of the earth for an afternoon, but for a full two days? That just couldn't be. Something must have happened to her.

My stomach twisted into a knot, and I fumbled around for my cellphone. I opened my contacts, and dialed Lisa's number. The call rang five times and went straight to voicemail.

"Hiya, you've reached Lisa. Sorry to deprive you of my brilliant conversation, but I'm not around right now. Leave a message."

I left a message asking Lisa to call me. I didn't hold out much hope of it amounting to anything, but I might as well.

I left the office and hurried out the passageway and down the block to Lisa's apartment building. At this point, I felt that trying to find her at home couldn't possibly come off as overly clingy. At the entrance, I halted next to the box of buzzers labeled by apartment. I located "Wilbourne, L." And pressed it. No response came. I waited another two minutes, then pressed again, for a full five seconds this time. Still, no chime came, and the door remained resolutely locked. I waited another several minutes, but this time swept the apartment with whichever bugs I could find scattered around it. I found no sign of Lisa anywhere. The apartment appeared entirely devoid of human forms. The part of me that had watched too many procedurals almost relaxed a bit at that, as it meant no sign of bled-out bodies sprawled on bathroom tile. I tried the bell one last time, this time for ten full seconds, and felt slightly psychotic. No answer. Lisa wasn't home, either.

My queasiness only increased. Something must have happened to her. At the very least, she would have texted me or messaged me on PHO by now. Wouldn't she? She had to be in trouble. Anything could have happened while she had been out investigating Rebecca's case, especially given our recent acrimonious run-ins with the Empire. I hated to even think about the possibilities, but it had to be done.

What were my options? I couldn't imagine involving the police. I could try to keep the secret of our powers from them, but I didn't imagine myself to be much of an equal match for a police detective when it came to a game of mental cat-and-mouse. That kind of stuff was Lisa's field, not mine. I could go to New Wave or the Protectorate as Flutter, but they had their hands full with the explosion of gang violence between the ABB and Empire Eighty-Eight. Would they even listen to me? I didn't think Brandish or Glory Girl would blow me off, but given the dearth of available evidence of foul play, how could I justify asking them to get involved?

No, for now, it seemed I would have to proceed by myself, at least until I could uncover evidence concrete enough to let me feel confident that I could actually secure outside assistance. My shoulders tensed. I normally left most of the investigation to Lisa, and for good reason. I didn't know the first thing about the nuts and bolts of detective work, and with Lisa gone, I had nobody to learn from. The few crime or detective novels I had read didn't exactly offer much in the way of helpful instruction, either.

I straightened my shoulders, which had drawn taut. I would make it work. With Lisa depending on me, how could I do anything else?

I resolved to start with our office. Given my inability to win entrance into Lisa's apartment building, plus my lack of a key to her actual apartment, there seemed to be no possible way for me to search her apartment for any evidence which might have been left there. As such, the office really was the only choice.

A few minutes later, I pushed open the back door to the office, having once again changed in the passageway.

I flipped on the lights and looked around the office, not entirely sure of where to start. Rather uncharacteristically, no papers cluttered the top of Lisa's desk. She must have returned whatever files she had on this case to her cabinets.

A row of ugly battleship-gray metal filing cabinets squatted against the wall behind Lisa's desk. Laptops, folded shut, adorned the tops of three of them. I never had asked Lisa why exactly she had so many laptops. I resolved to find out once I managed to locate her and put this whole mess behind us.

The filing cabinets were labeled alphabetically, from left to right. Hopefully Lisa had managed to restore them to more-or-less working order after the havoc wreaked by Ms. Readman's paper tornado.

What had the woman's name been? I cast my mind back to two days before, when she had come to our office to ask for help. "Rebecca Heaylen". I pulled open the filing cabinet which advertised itself as containing the files for "H". Inside, the drawer bulged with a thick row of paper-stuffed manila folders, each labeled with the relevant last name. I pushed the last of the Gs out of the way to reach the Hs, and thumbed through, looking for "Heaylen". Lisa's files proved more comprehensive than I would have thought, and I had to sort at least twenty or thirty folders out of the way before reaching my target. As I lifted it out, the folder behind it, newly revealed, caught my eye.

This folder read "Hebert, Taylor". I recalled my very first-and extremely discomfiting-meeting with Lisa, where I had been amazed to find that she actually did have a file on me.

My hand hovered over the folder. Was this really the time?

I lifted it out along with Rebecca's folder, unable to resist the temptation to see just what Lisa had found on me, back before we had become friends.

If I had known beforehand what the impact of that decision would be, I might well have left it sitting there on the shelf and spared myself what was to come.

I dropped the two folders onto my desk, and pushed my folder out of the way for the moment. As curious as I was, the issue at hand-Lisa's disappearance-came first. I settled myself into my desk chair with a sigh. As always, its rather ramshackle appearance belied its comfort.

I opened Lisa's file on Rebecca and spread its contents over the desk. I cast an eye over them and did my best to apply a detective mindset. Regrettably, but unsurprisingly, the picture provided by Rebecca was not inside. Lisa had undoubtedly carried it with her when she went out searching for our target, so I could hardly be surprised at its absence. This might even serve as confirmation of my suspicions. If she'd had the picture on her at the time of what increasingly looked like her kidnapping, that suggested she had been actively looking for Jason at the time. If I could simply figure out where she might have been looking, maybe I could find her.

Of course, having the picture to help identify Jason if I saw him would have been nice, as he might also have knowledge of what had happened to Lisa. For all I knew, he was the one who had kidnapped her in some misguided effort to conceal whatever he had gotten himself involved with.

I cast my mind back to our meeting with Rebecca on the day before last. I had seen the picture, after all, and so I attempted to form it in my mind. Much to my surprise, I came up with a reasonable approximation of what Jason had looked like. Or, at least, what I thought he had looked like. For all I knew, every single detail could be a complete fabrication through a mischievous trick of memory. With that said, I felt confident in my mental picture. Perhaps all that time I had spent working around Lisa had sharpened my detective skills without my knowledge.

Having resolved the issue of the missing picture, I went on to consider the files which actually were present inside of the folder. The first was a simple one-page dossier on Rebecca herself, which no doubt had been whipped up by Lisa prior to the meeting. The dossier contained a few notes on Rebecca's personality and background, along with "Trustworthy - possibly deluded?" scrawled messily in blue script at the top of the page. Under that sheet of paper, I found two printouts of articles from the _Brockton Morning Mirror_ from the about disappearances of homeless persons from Brockton in the past five years. I scanned the articles, but no obvious connection leapt off the page at me. Apparently one hadn't leapt off at Lisa, either, as she'd scrawled an "X" in vivid red ink at the upper-right corner of each page. Thankfully, it seemed that my failure to divine some sort of connection had not been the result of woefully inadequate detecting ability.

Past those articles were several from various news outlets throughout New England, also dealing with the vanishing of homeless persons under unusual circumstances. Red Xs also adorned several of these, but others had been marked with a blue question mark, or a green check mark. Unfortunately, my emphatically human sleuthing skills weren't able to pick out the thread woven between these articles by Lisa's superhuman intuition. I tried not to beat myself up over it, as doing so would be about as ridiculous as Lisa faulting herself for being unable to steer a fly through a crack in a window. Having reminded myself of this patently logical conclusion, I went right on kicking myself for my failure to put the pieces together. Thinkers had a way of making you feel bad about yourself just by existing. Somehow, I couldn't help but feel that I should be able to make the connections anyways. Reminding yourself of a power's existence became very difficult when the only effect of that power was to make someone appear incredibly intelligent.

I reluctantly admitted defeat with the articles, and slid them out of the way as well. Thankfully, the last item in the folder proved to be of much greater utility to me.

I unfolded a map of Brockton Bay which seemed to have come from the city's tourist information center, according to the branding in the corner. I marveled at the idea of people actually willingly coming to our gang-ridden mess of a city for pleasure, and unfolded the map across my desk. Though, if it were aimed at cape-chasing tourists, the desire to visit became much easier to understand. Say what they might, nobody could deny that Brockton Bay had a thriving cape scene, and one that wasn't too likely to be lethal to visitors. At least, not yet.

I shuddered briefly at the idea of being a tourist attraction, and resolved not to mention it to Lisa once I found her, as I could already see her gleefully remodeling us into a meet-and-greet curiosity. I didn't allow myself the weakness of doubting whether I would find her. She was out there in Brockton right now, somewhere. All I had to do was figure out where.

To that end, I turned my attention back to the map. As I lacked the ability to snatch deductions from the ether, I looked for any marks from the person who _did_ have that ability. The front of the map, which depicted the outskirts of the city as they merged into its northern half, remained entirely blank. Much to my gratified surprise, noticing Winslow on the map didn't so much as make me twitch an eyebrow. In so many ways, my time there felt almost like another life now, though it had been only a couple of months ago that Lisa had dragged me up out of that hell. If she really had gotten herself into trouble, now I would repay that life-changing favor.

I flipped the map over, and finally found something helpful.

The back of the map depicted the heart of Brockton Bay; namely, Downtown and the Docks. A neighborhood near the waterfront, but not properly part of the Docks, had been circled in bright red marker, undoubtedly by Lisa. The circle encompassed perhaps three to four city blocks. Lisa hadn't left any comments to further elucidate me, but I could hardly mistake her intent.

Clearly, she had thought she would find our missing man here, and had gone to look for him. I studied the neighborhood on the map. Whatever had happened to her must have happened within the boundaries of this circle.

With the map out of the way and the various files and photos scattered about the desk, the folder now lay empty. That hardly mattered, though, now that I knew where to look. My resolve hardened.

As I turned to leave, my gaze fell once more upon the folder marked with my name. Curiosity nagged at me once again, tugging my hand toward the folder. It would be much less awkward to look now, before Lisa's return. If I was being honest, I just had to know. I surrendered to the impulse with a stern injunction to myself to take only a very brief look at the contents. Somewhere out there, Lisa needed my help.

I flipped open the manila folder. Unsurprisingly, my file lacked the thickness of Rebecca's, and contained only a sole sheet of paper. In fact, I would have been worried to find that it had the same size. I didn't want to think there was that much information on me just floating about, ready to be snatched up by any discerning trawler.

My eyes traversed the page, which appeared to be the same one Lisa had perused at our first meeting. I felt some relief as I scanned the few unremarkable paragraphs of backstory undoubtedly gleaned from local police and hospital records. Secure in the intention to let this be a lesson to my conscience about letting me give in to insecurity, I moved to replace the paper in the folder. As I did, the light illuminated what appeared to be some scribbling on the back.

I flipped the paper over. On the back, Lisa had scrawled in unruly print: _Possible suicide risk? Keep an eye on her._

Those two short, simple sentences seared my eyes with the force of one of Purity's blasts. A queasy churn writhed into life in my stomach.

Lisa was my only friend, the only person who had taken the trouble to really, genuinely reach out to me in the time since Emma had turned on me. Thanks to her, I could genuinely look forward to each new day, instead of gritting my teeth and barely tolerating its slow passage. What's more, I had thought that I'd found someone who genuinely enjoyed my company, too.

I let the piece of paper slip out of my hands and drift back down to my desk. My fists clenched.

Had this all been some fucking lie, just because Lisa thought I was mentally unstable? I wanted to believe that she couldn't have managed to feign interest for the months we'd been working together now, but I knew Lisa too well to believe that. My mouth twisted bitterly. Or maybe I should say that I knew Lisa's powers too well to believe that, since apparently I knew nothing at all about her. Lisa was more than capable of stringing along a gullible loser like me, if she wanted to. In fact, her power was practically made for it. With this much time to work on me, she likely could have gotten me to believe absolutely anything she wanted.

The slippery thing in my stomach thrashed with redoubled agitation. I didn't know whether I wanted to throw something or throw up. I should have known better than to think that anything could have really changed for me. Getting powers hadn't made my life any better. Why should meeting Lisa be any different?

My fingers shook as I snatched the paper back off the desk, compacted it with several quick, ugly folds, and stuffed it inside my costume. Even if Lisa had been treating me as some psychological experiment all this time, I had to go looking for her. Part of me still insisted that I search for her because she was my friend, and she needed help. I still almost wanted to believe that to be my motivation, but the part of me which now seethed with a bilious mixture of emotions needed to demand an explanation face-to-face.

I grabbed the map, strode out the back door of the office, and pulled it shut behind me without looking back.


	23. Turncoat 5-3

With each step I took toward my destination, both my mood and my swarm grew darker.

I had walked about a half-mile from the office so far. The constant pedestrian traffic of the heart of Downtown had given way to one or two people on either side of the street, and the increasingly dilapidated state of the buildings confirmed my drawing nearer and nearer to the Docks. A quick look at the map confirmed that the area Lisa had circled couldn't be more than three or four more blocks away. As I went, I had pulled every bug I could into a swarm which swirled, still mostly unseen, in the sewers beneath or high in the air above. For some reason, my range seemed much wider than normal. I couldn't think about that now.

My stomach continued to churn, and my mind felt only half-present. I didn't even know whether I was grabbing all these bugs in anticipation of a fight, or just to give myself something, anything to do to take my mind off of the conversation Lisa and I might have once I finally found her. Despite everything that had happened, I still didn't doubt that find her I would. But what would I do when I found her? Would I fling the piece of paper in her face and demand an explanation? Would I hug her and say how happy I was that she was safe? I had absolutely no idea. _Could_ I even ask her to explain? It was Lisa, after all. If I gave her the chance, I didn't doubt that she could convince me of just about anything. She'd had ages now to pick out all of my thought processes and subconscious inclinations.

But denying her a chance to genuinely explain herself would be grossly unfair to Lisa, if she really was my friend. But I couldn't stand the thought of again hopelessly clinging to someone who saw no real value in me as a person. How could I know? Which was the right choice to make?

My acrid whirl of thoughts proved distracting enough to keep me blithely ignorant of just which part of town I was currently walking into.

Pain abruptly erupted in my left side as something fast and hard slammed into it and careened off. I staggered backward, searching for my attacker with both my eyes and the smaller, nimbler parts of my swarm.

A high-pitched laugh cut through the air, unmistakably feminine and tinged with anger.

Rune floated down from the roof of a nearby five-story apartment building. She rode on a slab of concrete pavement which looked as though a giant knife had carved it from the sidewalk. Knowing Kaiser, that may well have been the case. Rune stood with her legs apart and her arms crossed, in a pose clearly intended to project strength and authority. I wondered which self-help book she had gotten it from, and then wondered whether spending time with Lisa had made me overly flippant in the face of genuine danger. Lisa. I attempted to push those thoughts aside to focus on the problem at hand.

Rune's lips quirked into a faux pout.

"Knifeproof costume?" she said. "Someone should have told me. How's it do with blunt force trauma?"

I winced as the pain in my side began to coalesce into a throb. Once again, it fell to my full-face mask to maintain my evidently implacable image. I didn't know how villains managed without one.

And yet, here Rune was, with most of her face exposed. Vanity, maybe? I couldn't criticize too much, since the opening for hair in my costume offered no real tactical advantage.

Rune cocked her head as she hovered above me on her platform of concrete. "I know you're not mute, bug bitch. Too scared to talk without your big-mouth friend to do the smart-assing for you, or what?"

I had neither the time nor the inclination for this, but Rune seemed intent on forcing the issue. I began to gather in my full swarm. Thanks to my dispersal, Rune hadn't yet noticed the ones in the air, which circled well above her head.

"I could be wrong," I said, "but it didn't seem like you'd have much interest in whatever I had to say, so why go to the trouble?"

Rune's smile had the width and edge of a meat cleaver.

"Oh, I'm _very_ interested in what you have to say, bug bitch," she said. Two more knives began to orbit lazily about her in a vertical loop. "Specifically, what you'll have to say in about five minutes. I'm picturing some sobbing and begging for mercy. Who knows? Maybe you'll surprise me."

"Now's not a great time for me, sorry," I said. "Anyways, I'm not looking for a fight."

Rune laughed, shrill and cruel.

"Boy, maybe I was wrong! You've got some balls, don't you. Now you're just trying to piss me off. Here's some good news - you're inspiring me to be even more creative." She spun a knife on the end of her finger.

Well, it had been worth a try. She seemed to be holding a grudge.

I pulled my swarm in closer, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. The sewer beneath me positively teemed with insects ready to burst out.

"Again, I'd really rather not, but if you want a repeat of last time, that's your call," I said. "I can probably come up with some new places to crawl them, too. You know, if that would spice things up for you."

Rune clenched her teeth and stiffened her posture, but she couldn't completely disguise her shudder of revulsion. I had gotten to her after all. Lisa would have been proud. Twenty-four hours ago, I would've taken a great deal of satisfaction in that. Now? I didn't know.

Rune gathered herself and rose a few feet higher. Whether out of reflexive self-preservation or a desire to loom over me that much more, I couldn't tell.

"There won't _be_ a repeat," she sneered. "We're going to put you in the hospital for a long, long time."

A serpentine, unmistakably male voice cut in. "Are you finished? I'd like to get started."

"Yeah, enough with the speeches," croaked a modulated female voice in harsh tones.

"Yeah, yeah," Rune said. "We can get to the fun part now."

A man and a woman emerged from an alleyway to Rune's left-my right- about twenty feet away. Both, of course, wore costumes. I had detected them with my bugs during a sweep, so their appearance didn't come as a complete surprise, but I had hoped that they might be just normal henchmen.

Regrettably, I found myself looking at two capes. Having read Lisa's files on the Empire for self=preservation with some enthusiasm after our last run-in with Hookwolf, I recognized the two before me as Alabaster and Cricket.

To say this situation was degenerating would be a rather stiff-lipped understatement. I felt confident in my ability to handle Rune after our last encounter, but I had no practical experience with either of these two. Reading about their powers in a file didn't exactly qualify.

Alabaster, at least, didn't worry me too much. His power, automatic regeneration, wouldn't be too relevant, since I wasn't looking to inflict serious physical trauma on him anyways. It might inhibit my ability to generally distract him with bites and stings, but his lack of any kind of offensive ability could only help me.

Rune and Cricket, on the other hand, would be much trickier. My recollection of Cricket's powers suggested some kind of super-reflexes like Circus, which could make it tough to get any bugs on her. Rune's powers would be even more dangerous to me given her apparent thirst for blood, but, at the least, I could rely on still taking her out quickly.

To that end, I began to gather together my bugs in the sky, as far above Rune's head as my control reached.

Rune cocked her head. "Nothing else to say? That's a surprise. There's still time for a little begging, you know. I might even let you off a little easier if you really convince me."

Cricket rolled her eyes, while Alabaster held the same look of eerie avarice.

"No thanks," I said. "I meant it when I said I wasn't looking for a fight. We can still walk away from this."

Rune laughed and whistled. The third, and last, person I had detected in the alleyway stepped out. A girl, she looked to be not much older than Rune, and wore a tight-fitting red costume. That would be Othala, then. She could grant other capes temporary powers. Or, at least, if my memory of Lisa's files was accurate, she could. I expected I'd find out in a moment.

Othala's appearance meant I could wait no longer to put my plan into action.

Without a word, I turned away from Rune and sprinted back down the block.

"What the - get back here, you cowardly bitch!" Rune yelled from behind me. The swarm I had gathered above her dove through the air and descended on her. Her yell turned into a strangled yelp, and I felt her concrete slab list and slide to one side. The ground-bound component of my swarm boiled up from the sewers and sidewalk cracks to rush the other Empire capes. I focused the charge of my bugs on Othala in particular, who screamed and leapt for Rune. The gnats I had discreetly placed on all four Empire capes during our conversation informed me that Cricket and Alabaster had taken off running after me. I directed a swarm of bees, wasps, and flies at them, careful to send the bees only at Cricket due to Alabaster's regeneration. Alabaster surged forward through the stings and bites as though he hadn't even felt them. With his power, he must have become accustomed to wading through all kinds of discomfort or agony.

Cricket, by contrast, somehow wove through my bugs with the grace of a world-class gymnast. As she flipped through the air, my bugs began to turn sluggish, as though forcing themselves through air which had suddenly become like jelly. My input flow from them distorted, like a glitching radar screen.

That one would have been nice to read about in the file.

I missed a step as a wave of nausea clutched at my stomach. I might have thought it was simple fear, but it felt entirely artificial, as though forced upon me by an outside force. I gritted my teeth and ran through the sensation. I was really starting to dislike Cricket.

My few seconds of sprinting had carried me nearly to the end of the block. Back by Rune, as the two girls thrashed under my swarm, a clap of fire rolled off Rune's body. I lost contact with every bug I'd placed on her. That would be Othala's gifted power, then. Thankfully, my swarm on her remained in place.

With some difficulty thanks to Cricket's power, I coalesced a small swarm in front of Rune to hold her attention, and snuck a few more gnats onto her ankles as she crisped my distraction. Rune took off flying in my direction. Behind me, Cricket gained on me even as Alabaster fell behind. She couldn't be more than twenty feet back, now.

I rocketed around the corner, pumping my arms as I tore down the sidewalk. The few remaining civilians on the sidewalk could be seen scattering for shelter in every direction. Rune's fire blast had undoubtedly alerted everyone for several blocks in every direction that a cape fight was underway.

As Cricket continued to gain from behind, Alabaster picked his pace back up as well. Rune rose above the apartment tower between us and descended down towards my back. I strained my memory to recall just how long Othala's powers actually lasted for, but came up empty. If I couldn't disable Rune, things would get very ugly for me _very_ quickly.

In fact, with Cricket interfering with my bugs, I would be lucky to take out any of my attackers at all, with the exception of Othala, who continued to thrash around on the sidewalk. I scuttled a particularly juicy centipede into her mouth for effect.

No, a change in strategy would be necessary for me to make it out of this with all my limbs intact. And, if I didn't make it out of this, Lisa might not make it out of whatever had happened to her.

I diverted a large portion of my airborne swarm upwards and abruptly sprinted across the street. The skyscrapers of the heart of Downtown loomed in front of me, although they remained blocks away. My change of direction initially gained me a couple of feet on Cricket, but she whirled after me and began to close the gap once more. A grapefruit-sized chunk of concrete gouged the sidewalk just to the side of my left foot. Thankfully, it seemed like Rune's aim wasn't perfect. Still, I didn't want to rely on her missing more than once.

I hurtled through the entrance to a rather dilapidated-looking grocery store to my right, and began to sprint through the aisles with the Empire capes in hot pursuit. It being a weekday, the store wasn't too crowded, but a few startled-looking shoppers still had to scramble out of my way as I ran through the produce aisle. I looked for an emergency exit sign, and found one towards the back. After bursting through a series of doors, I rocketed back outside into an alley, still sprinting at full tilt. My breath came a little harder, now, but I didn't doubt my ability to keep going for a while yet.

My tracker bugs told me that Cricket and Alabaster remained hot on my heels, while Rune had soared upwards rather than entering the building. I ran out of the alley and onto the street. Before I could get more than half a block, Rune had begun to dive towards me once more. As in the store, civilians scattered out of my path in every direction. Nobody in Brockton Bay wanted to be caught up in a cape fight, especially one which involved a cape they didn't recognize.

I had kept the bulk of my swarm below Rune to obscure its purpose from her. As she dove, I shifted them behind and above her, with care that she not get an opportunity to roast them. For experimentation's sake, I broke off a small cluster and attempted to envelop her head once more. Another explosion of flame quickly put an end to their charge. That was a "no" on the pyrokinesis having run out, then. This would be much easier if Lisa was here to tell me the time limit. My jaw tightened at the thought, and I pushed it aside.

Cricket closed in as I reached the end of the block. She couldn't be more than a few feet behind me now. I hoped fervently that my costume would prove as resilient against her sickles as it had against Rune's knives. Alabaster, on the other hand, lagged a bit behind. He must not have particularly enjoyed running. The bugs which surged out of cracks in the sidewalk and sewer grates at my command faltered as they approached Cricket, and she skipped over them with ease. I still had no idea how she was managing that, which worried me.

Rune swooped in from above. Another chunk of concrete slammed into the sidewalk beside me, then skipped along it before slamming into a trash can with a resonating _clang_. Before I could attempt to dodge, a dully metallic trash can lid, hovering parallel to the ground no more than six inches up, darted in front of my feet and fixed in place. The push-off of my next stride caught on the lid. I stumbled, lost my balance, and careened to the ground, propelled forward to an unfortunate meeting with the sidewalk by my momentum.

Pain shot throughout my nervous system as I slammed into the pavement face-first. Cracks spiderwebbed across my left lens, but it remained intact. My costume prevented the concrete from scraping my skin bloody, but I found it hard to take much solace in that, under the circumstances.

I pushed off the ground and attempted to scramble to my feet. A futile action, as Cricket had caught up to me in the few moments my fall had afforded her. She kicked me back against the stone wall of the store behind me, which gave my back the chance to experience the same throbbing pain currently shooting through my front.

Cricket held one of her sickles against my neck as my bugs rushed over her feet.

"Call them off, or I'll open you up and look for an off switch," she said, her voice harsh and cruel through the modulator.

I nodded, and dispersed my earth-borne bugs back into the nooks and crannies. My aerial swarm, on the other hand, I held in place.

As Alabaster finally caught up, Rune floated down to join us. Her face split into a colossal smirk.

"End of the road, bug bitch," she said. "If you'd just taken it like a good girl, I might have let you off a little easier." A pair of knives floated out from behind her and keened as they slid their blades against one another. "But now you're _really_ gonna have a bad time. Alabaster!"

Alabaster stood a few feet down the sidewalk from me. He turned his sheet-white face towards Rune with lazy indifference.

"Yeah, what?" he said, his tone not nearly as deferential as I'm sure Rune would have liked.

Rune's eyes narrowed. "Go check on Othala," she said. "This freak doesn't have the guts to do any serious harm to her, but I'm not gonna be the one who hears from Victor about how we left his fiancé on the sidewalk with cockroaches crawling up her ass."

Alabaster shrugged with complete indifference.

"Sure, whatever. You two seem to have this under control." He headed back the way we had come with an unhurried saunter, rather than our previous flat-out sprint. Clearly, he didn't hold much personal worry for Othala's well-being.

Of course, he had every reason not to, since I hadn't given her anything more than superficial bites and venomless stings. In fact, I couldn't even sense Othala anymore, as she had passed out of range as I raced down this block. Still, I felt that I had rattled her enough to keep her out of action for some time.

Which, of course, did nothing to solve my much more immediate problem.

With a cruel gleam in her eye, Cricket hooked the suit fabric on my left leg with the tip of her sickle. She tugged. My costume refused to rip.

Cricket's face twisted with annoyance. "Christ, what'd she make this thing out of?" she said. "This is gonna take all the fun out of it."

Rune tapped her chin. "Oh, I don't know about that," she said. She gestured, and the piece of concrete which had shot at me before leapt back off the pavement. I nearly retched as the grapefruit-sized lump of concrete drove into my stomach. Fresh, searing pain exploded over the throbbing from my previous encounters with the sidewalk and the wall behind me. I began to feel like a giant ball of tormented nerve endings.

My breath came in pained wheezes as I struggled to take a full one. Rune smiled in satisfaction.

"See?" she said to Cricket. "Fancy suits don't help so much with blunt-force trauma, do they? And I've got a _lot_ of blunt force."

At this point, Rune hovered no more than three feet off the ground. From my position half-sitting, half-slumped against the wall, her levitating concrete pedestal floated at about eye height, with Rune looming over me on top of it despite her average stature.

Cricket eyed Rune with impatience. It was almost a relief to know that I wasn't the only one who found the grandstanding a little ridiculous, despite the direness of my situation. Lisa would undoubtedly have been bent over laughing by now.

Rune hopped down off the slab of concrete and gave me a savage kick in the ribs. I couldn't stop myself from crying out. I had gone through hell in that locker, but it was an entirely different kind of pain from the sharp, directed agony I experienced now. I gritted my teeth and tried to pull my focus back.

"Wow, that felt even better than I thought," Rune said. "This is going to be really therapeutic, I can already tell. We're going to have a _lot_ of fun together." She placed cooing emphasis on the word.

Cricket moved to backhand me with one of her blades. One of Rune's knives clashed with the sickle and deflected it. The sickle screeched against the concrete just to the right of my head. I winced.

Cricket whirled on Rune with a furious expression. Rune wagged a finger. "Sorry, but this one's mine," she said. "It's personal with this bitch. I'll let you have your fun after I'm done."

Cricket scowled, but said nothing. Between this and the orders she'd given to Alabaster, Rune clearly had a surprising amount of pull within the Empire for a teenage girl. I had imagined that a neo-Nazi organization would be pretty chauvinistic, especially with Kaiser always making a point to use Fenja and Menja as arm candy. Perhaps the strength of Rune's powers enabled her to carve out more respect than I'd imagined.

Through the shooting pain, I thought that I had certainly picked a good enemy to make.

Rune sneered. Her eyes gleamed with predatory cruelty. "Let's see how you do with this one," she said, and gestured. My first run-in with her had shown that her power didn't require physical direction, but she clearly had a taste for theater.

The five-foot-wide, foot-thick concrete slab Rune had flown on flipped vertically, soared about fifty feet up into the air, and rocketed back down towards me. Icy fingers clutched at my stomach. I clenched my fists and set my jaw in an effort to brace myself as I watched the bludgeon rocket toward me.

A blur of white rocketed down into the slab's path. The slab exploded into a cloud of white dust and flying fragments, which clattered off the lenses of my mask. Rune stumbled backwards and fell on her rear. The sight would have been much more gratifying if I were in less pain.

Cricket whirled toward Rune as the dust cleared.

Glory Girl hovered in the air a few feet from my face.

"Hiya, Flutter," she said. "I got your message. Mind if I kick these guys' asses for you?"

"The floor's all yours," I said. Or, more accurately, half-coughed, half-wheezed. A full breath still eluded me, and the fire scorching my nervous system hadn't receded. If anything, it seemed to be intensifying.

"Message?" Rune said. Suddenly, the realization dawned on her. She looked directly up into the sky, where I had marshaled my entire flying swarm into a giant, three-dimensional arrow high enough to be seen halfway across the city by any rooftop Protectorate patrols.

I smiled through the pain. After the last few minutes, I was going to enjoy this.

"You're dead meat, you bug bitch!" Rune shouted. Both her knives shot at Glory Girl. One speared her in the left shoulder, while the other rammed into her right thigh just below the hem of her skirt. Each knife's point shattered on impact. They fell to the pavement, inert.

Glory Girl raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Cricket charged at Glory Girl. Her sickles gleamed in the warm light of the afternoon sun. Glory Girl launched out of her hover and looped around behind Cricket. As she did, Rune scrambled backwards a few steps and reached for a nearby trash can.

I forced myself to focus, and dove my airborne bugs towards Rune as my ground troops swarmed out once more. To my right, Glory Girl grabbed at Cricket, who pirouetted out of the way with a grace belied by her uncouth appearance and countered with a wicked upward slice which would have ripped open the stomach of an unprotected human.

Glory Girl seemed to nearly collapse backward until she hovered almost parallel to the pavement, with her heels only a few inches off the ground. As Cricket's blow whistled upward ineffectually, Glory Girl shot back up, grabbed her arm, and twisted it. I could hear the _crack_ that followed. Cricket howled, and her sickle clattered free to the ground. As she attempted to bring the other around for another blow to Glory Girl, the latter pivoted and, following through on the momentum from her turn, hurled Cricket bodily through the large glass window of the storefront to my right. The bright tinkle of shattering glass filled the air. Yells and cries rang out from inside, including a particularly agonized one in Cricket's unmistakably modulated voice.

I remained slumped against the wall, still unable to regain my feet. Before enough bugs to pose a serious inconvenience could reach Rune, the trash can tore off its base with a screech, and rocketed into Glory Girl's back. The attack caught her unprepared, and though the front of the steel can dented with an audible crunch in the impact, it carried Glory Girl up into the air with considerable speed.

Rune gagged and slapped at her costume as I skittered a particularly large and slimy centipede up inside her dress and towards her mouth. My muscles protested as I heaved to my feet and stepped toward Rune. From above, there came a wail of tortured metal as Glory Girl tore the garbage can in two. The two halves zoomed off in separate directions, somehow still under Rune's control. One dragged Glory Girl further up, while the other zoomed at me at full speed. As it came, a wave of my bugs surged over Rune. She collapsed to her knees, screaming. I took what scant pleasure I could in that as I braced for the impact of the missile barreling towards me.

The sun glinted off something small as it zipped through the air in front of me. Abruptly, the remnant of the garbage can headed for me faltered and dropped to the ground in the middle of the street, forcing a car to swerve around it and very nearly be clipped by oncoming traffic. A few dozen feet above me, Glory Girl angled into a steep dive to catch the half set against her before it could slam into the ground.

Rune's screams abruptly dwindled into a low groan, and she slumped forward onto the pavement in a very undignified pose. A steel quill protruded from her left shoulder.

I couldn't say that I was entirely happy to see that, even if it had saved me from possible disembowelment by a flying trash receptacle, which had to be up there on the list of most undignified ways to go.

"Nice work," sneered a harsh voice from behind me. "Really smooth, waltzing into Empire turf and then screaming for help from the people who actually know what they're doing."

I turned, and came face-to-face with Shadow Stalker once again. This time, at least, the arrows in her hand crossbows had needle-tipped tranquilizer points.

I'll admit, the situation had me at a loss for words, so I gave Rune a few dozen final bites and dispersed my bugs instead.

Shadow Stalker gave me a contemptuous look, and strode over to Rune, to whom she administered a swift kick in the ribs. "Fucking Nazis," she said. She looked at me. Her eyes were still just as cold as they had been that night at the school. "Hey, bug girl. Where's your loudmouth bitch of a partner?"

"Not here," I said. I wasn't going to give up any more than that.

Shadow Stalker rolled her eyes. "You're a real genius," she said. "Try the tough act with me when your friends aren't around to make me bail you out, and we'll see where it gets you."

I hadn't thought it would be possible for me to dislike Shadow Stalker any more intensely, but there you go.

Glory Girl tossed her half of the trash can onto its partner and floated over to join us. As she did, a man in a burnished suit of power armor rounded the nearest corner and ran to join us.

That had to be Gallant. Shamus had told me that the Wards always patrolled in twos at a minimum, so his presence made sense. But why was Glory Girl, a member of New Wave, here alone?

Gallant looked at the sprawled bodies of Rune and Cricket. "Nice work," he said.

Glory Girl beamed. "You always know just what to say," she said, and kissed him on his helmet cheek.

Well, that explained why she was here, I supposed. I never seemed to get the memo about this stuff. Lisa, on the other hand, had probably known about it before it even happened.

Shadow Stalker snorted, and looked at me. "Hey, bug girl."

"I'm called Flutter," I said.

"Yeah, whatever. Did these two have any more company? Not that they would've needed it to take you out, apparently."

Evidently, the passage of time hadn't done much to ease her resentment.

"Othala and Alabaster," I said, choosing not to rise to the bait. "I took out Othala about two blocks back. She could have recovered by now. Alabaster went back to check on her."

Gallant nodded, and stuck out an armored gauntlet. "Pleasure to meet you, Flutter," he said. I shook his hand gingerly, in anticipation of a crushing metal grip, but felt no more pressure than normal for a handshake.

"Thanks for the save," I said. I rubbed at my throbbing side. "These guys seem to really hold a grudge."

"That's where we come in," Glory Girl said. She leaned towards me. "Don't pay any attention to Shadow Stalker," she whispered. "That girl's got a serious attitude problem."

"You can say that again," I mumbled back.

Glory Girl looked around, as though searching for someone. "Hey, where's Shamus?"

I winced behind my mask.

"Long story," I said. "I'm sort of looking for her now."

Glory Girl's eyebrows raised with concern.

"Is it serious?"

"Probably not," I said. "I don't want to distract you guys. You've clearly got enough on your plates already."

"We appreciate the thought, but don't hesitate to let us know if your partner turns out to be in more danger than you thought," Gallant said. "I've heard from Glory Girl here that you two do good work."

"What he said," Glory Girl said. "You know where to find us."

I nodded.

"Thanks, guys," I said. "I will."

A groan came from inside the shop, as Cricket began to stir. Shadow Stalker strode over and fired a tranquilizer dart into Cricket. "Are you all done?" she said.

"Sorry, but we'd better get after the other two," Glory Girl said apologetically. "Can you tell us exactly where you left Othala?"

"Sure," I said. "I think it was at the intersection of May and Woodlawn."

Shadow Stalker fired her grappling hook into the air, and was gone.

Glory Girl sighed. "Nice," she said. She scooped up Cricket and Rune's still-inert bodies like a pair of potato sacks and slung one over each shoulder. "Okay, we're off. And really, if your partner's in more trouble than you thought, give us a call, okay?"

"Thanks again," I said. Glory Girl smiled. "My pleasure." She soared off, with Gallant keeping pace below her.

With any need to look cool now gone, I slumped back against the store wall behind me. My body felt like a steamroller had run me over. Painful complaints from nearly every muscle and body part I knew of, and probably some I didn't, continued to drive their red-hot way into my brain.

Still, nothing felt broken or life-threatening, and I could worry about how to hide the undoubtedly extensive bruising from Dad later. I had to push through and find Lisa. My hand went to where I had stuffed Lisa's file, and tightened over it. I needed answers, and only she could provide them.

After taking another minute to gather my strength, I resumed my march through Downtown, somewhat unsteadily at first. This time, I made sure to sweep wide around Empire territory. I'd had my fill of cape fights for one day. As I went, I swept up all the new bugs I could find to replace the ones Rune had roasted.

Much to my relief, I managed to make my way to my destination without any further incidents.

The block which Lisa had circled on her map stood before me. Nothing leapt out as an obvious target for investigation at first glance. From my position on the corner, I saw a deli, an Asian grocery, and a couple of clothing stores. I decided to loop around to the other side. As I went, I tried not to feel bad about every pedestrian crossing the street at my approach. That was simply common sense, I reminded myself.

While I walked, I swept an array of the most unobtrusive gnats and mites I could find through every building on the block, room-by-room. No building here had more than three or four stories, so a search was actually feasible. Whenever my bug ran into something with the shape or behavior of a possible human, I vectored a few more in to establish an overall shape. In particular, I focused my efforts on arranging my bugs to create a sort of wireframe of the person's silhouette, in the hopes that Lisa was still wearing her fedora and trenchcoat.

My insectoid sweep continued as I reached the far side of the block. Despite the presence of a few shops, a squat, old red-brick factory much like the one in which we'd fought Lung and Hookwolf dominated the street. Judging by its boarded-up windows and chained-off gate, it appeared to be abandoned. My interest piqued. This had to be the place.

I cast my low-profile sweeper net over it. A few people had congregated together on the third floor. Unless I was very much mistaken, one of them wore a fedora on their head.

I took a deep breath, and gathered my swarm together outside the building. Somehow, I felt more nervous now than I had staring down four Empire capes. The person I presumed to be Lisa seemed to be moving, so I could rule out the worst. Unless the worst was that she had led me on the entire time, and was working hand-in-hand with whoever the target of our investigation might be.

More than anything else, I wanted the uncertainty to be over. Just not knowing what had happened, who I could trust - all the old wounds had torn open. I was almost grateful to the physical pain for the distraction.

My bugs had found a gap in the chain-link fence down an alley to my left. I took a deep breath. It was now or never.

With my swarm following in my wake, I walked towards the gap, and towards whatever awaited me on the other side.


	24. Turncoat 5-4

I ducked into the building through an open first-floor window. With the warm early summer weather, it seemed you could expect even derelict manufacturing sites to put a premium on a good breeze.

My scouts continued to fan out throughout the building as I located and crept into the nearest stairwell. Thankfully, they failed to turn up anyone besides Lisa and her two companions. With no idea what I was walking into, I wanted to deal with as few people as possible. I felt again for the sheet of paper I had tucked away into my costume. I was here to get answers from Lisa, and maybe to save her, not to stop a crime.

With that thought, a pang of guilt flashed through me, a sensation entirely separate from the pain which continued to sink its talons into pretty much everywhere below my neck. In my shock, I had almost entirely forgotten about our case, and the missing man we'd been hired to find, or possibly save. Regardless of whatever happened with Lisa, that man still needed our help - my help.

I arrived on the second-floor landing of the stairwell, and peered up at the railing around the third, behind which stood a rusted blue door. Lisa and the other two had moved around somewhat. However, as nobody had taken up ambush positions by the door, I clung to the hope that, so far, I remained undetected.

Based on what I could tell of their builds and hair, I judged Lisa's companions likely to be men. One almost certainly had to be Rebecca's missing client. Lisa going off the grid in the same place she had gone to look for him could be written off as a coincidence, if you had a credulous streak the size of Behemoth. But then, who was the third? The culprit? Another missing person? I couldn't be sure. My bugs could only tell me so much. Not for the first time, I wished for the ability to somehow see through their eyes, as if I were connected in real-time to a thousand miniscule drones.

I shook my head. Why not wish that I could fly and punch through walls like Glory Girl, while I was at it? There were much better times for indulging in pointless daydreams. My earthbound bugs flowed silently up the stairs and over the walls. The flying bugs, I held outside on the possibility that their buzzing and whining might alert whoever waited for me. If anyone hostile waited for me, anyways. With the day I'd been having so far, I found myself more inclined to err on the side of show of force first, apologies later.

With what felt like almost exaggerated, cartoon-style caution, I crept up the last flight of stairs standing between me and the third-floor stairwell exit. My bugs scrambled up the staircase around me, always weaving around or over my trepidatious footfalls. I paused by the door. Still no movement from inside which gave the slightest sign that I had been detected.

After taking a moment to size up which way the door opened to avoid a possibly fatal and definitely embarrassing mistake, I settled on inwards, and took a deep breath.

I yanked the door open, and my bugs swarmed into the room.

On the other side of the door lay a sparse room of gray concrete floors and whitewashed walls. A gaggle of chairs and couches clustered around a television opposite the entrance, where the orange rays of the evening sun slanted through a wide set of windows.

In the middle of the room, exactly where my bugs had put her, stood a blonde girl in a long brown trenchcoat and a crumpled black fedora. She appeared to be deep in conversation with a man seated on a chair next to her. The angle gave me a clear view of the man's face. There could be no mistake - this was the person Rebecca had hired us to find.

Both of them turned towards me, their faces widening in surprise, as my bugs raced over the ground towards them.

Shamus raised her hands in mock surrender. A smile split her face.

"Hey, Flutter. We give up! Call off the dogs!"

I took a step into the room, and halted my swarm three feet in front of me. Outside, I clustered my flying insects against the building's walls, ready to swarm inside at a moment's notice.

The third presence I had detected remained motionless in the room to my right. A wall and a closed door barred them from my view.

"Hi, Shamus," I said. I kept my voice carefully neutral. "Sorry if this is a bad time, but after two days, I was getting a little worried. Is everything all right?"

I saw no restraints, or torture implements, or anything else which might indicate that she was a prisoner.

But, nonetheless, there remained that last person, in the room just next door.

Shamus smacked her forehead. "Sorry, I must have scared the hell out of you! I went looking for our friend here"-she jabbed a thumb at the man next to her-"and, well, it turns out the situation was a little more complicated than we thought."

The man gave an awkward half-wave in my direction, but didn't speak, possibly out of shyness. Or, possibly because a girl in dark chitinous armor had just burst into the room amidst a whirling swarm of insects.

My fashion consultation with Glory Girl was long overdue indeed.

"That's a relief," I said. "I was getting seriously worried that something bad had happened to you when you went out looking for him."

Shamus cleared her throat. "Well, you could say that, I suppose. Once I found Jason, it turned out that he'd had a pretty nasty run-in with the Empire. Sounds familiar, right? They were out hunting for him in full force, and believe me, it could have gotten pretty ugly. You and I aren't exactly high on their list of favorite people right now, either, so I holed up here with Jason to ride out the storm. Turns out I forgot my phone, and this dump is sadly lacking in computer access, so I couldn't reach you. Sorry to have worried you, really, but it's good to see you."

It would've been nice if there was nothing more to it than that, wouldn't it? But, I had to be sure. I could be looking at a clone, or a doppelganger, or an alternate universe twin, for all I knew. Even if it was Shamus herself in the flesh, beyond the shadow of a doubt, she could be controlled, or simply under duress. In the world of parahumans, you could be sure of very little beyond the basic fact that situations would explode out of control in bizarre and unpredictable ways.

I decided to rule out the evil clone theory first, as this seemed the easiest. The obvious course of action came immediately to mind.

Shamus blinked at me through her mask. "Flutter, are you okay? What's with the silent treatment?" The man next to her-Jason-continued to look deeply unnerved.

I held my hands behind my back, and looked at Shamus.

"How many fingers am I holding up right now?" I asked.

"Huh?" Shamus said. "Flutter, did you hit your head or something?"

Through the wall, the third presence remained utterly still.

"Sorry, but I have to be sure," I said. "You've been totally off the grid for two days. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Shamus crossed her arms, peeved. "Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but this isn't exactly the reception that I had in mind. Is this nonsense really necessary, or can we just chalk up another win for the team and move on?"

A weight sank in my stomach. I stood firm. This had to be done.

"It shouldn't be hard," I said. "I've seen you rattle off stuff like this off the cuff without even blinking. Humor me, okay? It's just a quick guess, nothing more."

Shamus sighed, and rolled her eyes. The person in the other room, whoever they were, still hadn't moved. They had to be able to hear us, so why hadn't they moved?

"Okay, whatever, fine," Shamus said.

My body tensed. This was it.

"Seven fingers," Shamus said. "Now, can we be done already?"

An electric charge shot through my nervous system.

I had been holding up three.

I still had no idea as to what, exactly, was going on, but I did know one thing with absolute certainty. Whoever was standing in front of me, they didn't have Shamus's power.

I took a step backwards, and my swarm bristled. "Don't move," I said.

Shamus sighed. "That was wrong, huh? Fuck me. Thinkers are such a pain."

What she-or her clone, if that was the working theory-meant by that, I had no idea. I addressed myself to the person in the other room, raising my voice so it would carry through the closed doorway.

"Whoever's next door, this would be a good time to come out," I said. "I don't want to have to send my bugs in there after you, but I will." To emphasize my point, I flew a sizable chunk of my airborne contingent into the room, buzzing as loudly as they could.

Jason raised his hands and spoke for the first time, in a surprisingly deep voice.

"Okay, okay, whatever," he said. "Hold on a second, alright? I don't want cockroaches shoved up my ass, or anything."

I looked at Jason, confused. What was going on?

"So you're the one responsible for whatever's happening here?" I said. "Does Rebecca know?"

The person behind the wall began to move.

"Look, just wait one second," Jason said. "This is a real pain, you know?"

I felt even more lost, if that were at all possible, and turned toward the door as the third person approached it from the other side. Shamus continued to watch me, but said nothing at all, which further reinforced my distinct belief that it couldn't possibly be her.

The door swung open to reveal a teenage boy. He had porcelain-pale skin, and a cascade of elegant dark curls. The practically sculpted quality of his features clashed with the rumpled, stained T-shirt and wrinkled jeans he wore, like a Greek marble sculpture draped in oversized hand-me-downs. His expression was placid, with the faintest hint of annoyance. He took in my bugs without so much as a step backwards.

"Wow, that's disgusting," he said. "As far as gross powers I've seen go, yours is definitely up there."

My fingers dug into my gloved palms. I had taken enough abuse, verbal and physical both, for one day.

"Who are you, and who are they?" I asked. I pointed at Shamus. "That's not my partner, so don't try to trick me into thinking it is. Are you the one responsible for whatever's going on here?"

The boy let out a frighteningly attractive sigh. "You just had to come butting in here, didn't you? Couldn't you have just left me alone? I didn't do anything to you, you know. This is all such a pain."

I drew the semicircle of my swarm tighter around him by half a foot, while keeping an eye on the other two, who looked on mutely. As far as standoffs went, it was an odd one.

"I'm not here to play word games," I said, my tone cold. "Tell me what I want to know. What have you done with Shamus? I want an answer, now."

The boy shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself. I don't understand what you're working yourself into such a snit for. She's right there." He pointed across the room to Shamus. "And, as you can see, she's completely fine. There isn't even a scratch on her. So, relax, alright? Christ, you're tense."

Shamus - or the thing he claimed to be Shamus, anyways - smirked and gave me a smarmy wave.

I ground my teeth, and whirled back on the boy. I had to force down the temptation to sic my bugs on him. As gratifying as it might have been, I needed him able to talk.

"That's not my partner," I bit out. "I gave her a simple test, one that she'd pass in her sleep fifty times out of fifty, and she failed it." I pointed a finger at her. "I don't know how you're doing it, but that's not her, so tell me where she is. _Now_." My anger boiled over with that last word, and my swarm flared up to accentuate the words tumbling out of my mouth with vicious buzzing.

The boy chuckled, shook his head, and gave me a lazy smile.

"You really don't get it, huh? I guess she was the brains of the operation. Like I told you before, she's standing-"

"-right in front of you," Shamus finished. She had completed the sentence seamlessly.

The two of them and Jason all shrugged in unison.

"So-," Jason said.

"-do you-" Shamus continued.

"-get it now?" the boy finished?

This time, I thought I did. My gorge rose, and my swarm rose with it.

"You're controlling her? That's sick. Let them both go, _now_."

"Gee, you make a great argument for it," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "But, on the other hand, why should I bother?"

I stepped towards him. My bugs flowed forward the same distance. The boy shook his head, but his reply came from Shamus's mouth.

"I wouldn't be so aggressive, if I were you," she said. "I could have her run across the room and smash through that window action-movie style a lot faster than you could do anything to me with those bugs of yours. Sure, it's only three stories, but I can make sure she goes out head-first. Could be kind of ugly, you know. Even uglier than all those bugs."

To see Shamus so casually discussing the prospect of her own demise felt absolutely surreal. Even though I knew the boy was speaking through her, wrangling my mind into smoothly accepting the concept was another story entirely.

My mind roiled with a hundred half-formed thoughts and plans. What could I do? Even using my spiders to restrain her, there would be no way to stop her in time. I opted to play for time via talking.

"Why did you do this to them, only to keep them here?" I asked. "I don't get it. What's the point, what do you get out of it? You're squatting in what's very near filth in a building that would've already been disgusting before it was abandoned fifty years ago. This seems like a pretty miserable way for a cape to live."

"You certainly are judgmental," the boy said through Jason's mouth. "I didn't come barging into your to critique your taste in interior decorating. Anyways, if it'll shut you up for a second, I guess I'll tell you. I found this guy half-dead and grabbed him for some help around the place, running errands unobtrusively, all that stuff. Honestly, you should be thanking me. I cleaned him up in a major way." The boy curled Jason's lips into a smirk. "Maybe I even saved his life. Who knows? Anyways, I figured nobody would bat an eyelash if some homeless guy went missing."

"So," he continued through Shamus, "you can imagine my surprise when Miss Detective here jumped him in the street and started asking irritating questions. Honestly, she really didn't leave me any choice but to take control of her too. I've just gotten comfortable here, and I don't really feel like having to abandon my nice new apartment building after putting all of that guy's hard work into it, you know? Which brings me to the question of what to do with you."

While unpleasant, the raising of that topic didn't come as a complete surprise to me. As soon as he had revealed what had happened to Shamus, it seemed obvious that he'd attempt the same with me too.

My swarm buzzed and chittered ever more loudly as I drew them into an even denser formation around myself.

"I wouldn't try it," I said. "It clearly takes you some time, or you would've done it already, which means that I'll have all the time I need to sting you to death before you have the chance to make your power work on me."

The boy shrugged. "Oooh, how threatening. Maybe I'll just have these two beat out your brains instead, then. That probably won't take very long." Shamus's hand moved to her pocket and pulled out her stun gun, while Jason picked up a fairly heavy-looking wooden end table.

I swallowed the fear rising in my throat, and did my best to sound resolute.

"It still won't be fast enough to stop me from getting you, so don't try it. There's no reason we can't all leave here alive."

The boy studied my face closely for a moment. Once again, I blessed the air of inscrutability lent to me by my lensed mask. If push really came to shove, I wasn't at all sure that I had the will to back up my bravado, even as self-defense in the face of mortal peril. Hurting people had been surprisingly easy-maybe even a little uncomfortably easy, to be honest-but could I cross that line? At least Shamus didn't have her powers. If it was a bluff, I might still get away with it.

After another moment where only the noise of my bugs filled the air, the boy spoke again.

"Well, we're both kinda screwed then, right? You want them back, but if I give them back to you and you all walk out of here, I get the Protectorate coming down on me like the Gestapo as soon as you get the chance to make a phone call. That doesn't sound great for me, don't you think? Which puts us at a bit of an impasse."

"I'm not with the Protectorate," I said.

The boy quirked an eyebrow. "Could have fooled me, with how insistent you two are on helping people. I guess that does make sense, though, what with the majorly creepy vibe you're giving off." He made a disgusted face. "Really, that power's totally disgusting. I don't know how you stand it. I'd probably off myself if it was a choice between that or having bugs crawl all over me."

"Thanks," I muttered with a very thick heaping of sarcasm. "Bugs crawling all over you will go from a hypothetical to a very serious reality if you don't let them go, so you're welcome to follow up on that line of thought now, if you like."

This time, he spoke through Shamus once more.

"Wow, so you do have a sense of humor," he said. "That's a surprise, honestly." He poked Shamus in the cheek with her left arm. "With how much your friend here blabbed, I figured you were the inveterately humorless counterpart. You know, like one of those dime-a-dozen detective TV shows, but with capes. _Very_ original."

Seemingly sensing my discomfort at the broaching of just how long he'd had Shamus before he did whatever he'd done to her, he chuckled through Shamus and went on. "Don't worry, I didn't waterboard her or any shit like that. Although, I think she did almost give herself an aneurysm after trying to use her power on me for that long." He shrugged Shamus's shoulders. "I feel like that's on her, honestly, so don't expect me to apologize. Like I said, I haven't even so much as scratched her."

An unpleasant thought occurred to me, and I kicked myself for not having thought of it earlier.

"Is she conscious right now?" I asked. "Can she see and hear this?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," he said through Shamus. His own body watched me, blinking cooly, but not so much as opening its mouth. The effect was deeply unsettling, no doubt by design. "She was thrilled when you barged in and ruined my act, actually. I don't think she likes being stuck in here very much. Your friend seems like a pretty huge control freak, if you ask me." He waved Shamus's left hand at me. "Hey, partner," he said through her.

I clenched my fists. I had had all that I was willing to take of this macabre puppet show.

"You need to let her go, _now_," I said. "I'm not going to ask again."

"You did hear what I said about the window, right?" he said. "You're in no position to make threats. You ought to be less cocky about it."

"And you might want to take another look at the window," I said. "Go ahead. I don't mind waiting."

"Ooooh, spooky," the boy said, though the mild interest in his tone belied his words. He turned Shamus's head, instead of his own, to the window behind her, undoubtedly to make a point.

As soon as he did, he saw the thick cords of spider silk which I'd wrapped across the window in horizontal bars while we'd been talking. I'd done the same to the windows further down the wall as well.

The boy turned back to me, and affected a nonchalant air. "Do you really think I can't get her through those? That won't stop your friend from taking a tumble, believe me."

"You probably could, but not before I get to her, and my bugs get to you," I said. "And I won't have any incentive to hold back. Bugs can get in all sorts of interesting places, you know."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Okay, now you're just being disgusting," he said. "How did you manage to get all this gunk on this window so quickly? Bug powers are such weird shit, honestly. I probably wouldn't even use them, if it were me."

I didn't rise to the bait. I had him, and he knew it. This was just him drawing out the process of acknowledging the inevitable.

The boy groaned, then waved a hand. "Fine, fine, you can have her back. It's more trouble than she's worth, and she's a pretty lame ride-along partner, anyways. It's more for my own peace of mind than anything else."

"And the man, too," I said.

"Christ, you need to relax. Fine, him too." The boy changed to speaking through Jason's mouth. "But I'm not letting him go right away, so forget about it. Sorry, but I don't feel like giving up all my leverage so you can sting me to death, or whatever. I'll let your friend go, you leave with her. Then, once you're out, I'm leaving this garbage dump of a town. As far as I'm concerned, it's worn out its welcome. Once I'm gone, I'll cut this hobo loose, if he's so important to you. Don't try to push your luck, either, because I'm not stupid enough to give up all of my leverage."

I nodded. "Fine," I said. I felt I could trust him to keep his word, at least on this issue. He might be a pretty awful person by any objective measurement, but if Shamus and Jason were nothing more than menial help to him, he had no special reason to hold on to either of them.

The boy looked at me. "You should know, once I've gotten somebody once, I can instantly take control again any time, as long as I'm in the same city. I don't need to see them, or anything pointless like that. So, if you or your friend try to fuck with me getting out of Brockton in any way-like, say, calling the Protectorate-it's going to be a _really_ awful end for her, I promise you."

I pushed back down any guilt I felt at the possibility of him escaping to do the same thing in another city. There was no helping that now.

"I don't care what you do next," I said. "I'm here for them, not you. I couldn't care less where you go, as long as it's not here."

The boy shrugged. "Wow, that's ruthlessly pragmatic of you. Maybe I should be impressed? Whatever. Anyways, where were we?"

"Let her go," I said.

"Oh, right. Yeah, sure. But remember, if I see even one of those disgusting centipedes moving my way, I'll take back control right away." He smirked again. "I might even be forced to do something drastic. So, basically, don't try it."

I nodded, and withdrew my swarm a few paces as a further gesture of good faith. With the windows now obstructed, I was willing to trust him a little further. _Very_ little further, of course, but still far enough to make the gesture.

"Well, here we go," he said with Shamus's voice. He made Shamus doff her fedora and sweep into a deep bow.

When she straightened back up, fire blazed in her eyes.

"_Fuck_!" she said. She took a gasping breath with the desperation of a swimmer held underwater just until the point of drowning. She jammed her hat back onto her head with enough force to crumple the top, and whirled on the boy, who continued to appear entirely unruffled. At the sight of him, she snarled.

"I'm gonna tear your throat out, you prick-"

Abruptly, her face lost all emotion and she straightened back up, like an actor interrupted halfway through a scene. She wagged a finger and tsked.

"I know you heard me talking to your friend. I wasn't kidding about being able to take you back any time, so don't fuck with me." The boy laughed with Shamus's voice. "Wow, she's _really_ pissed now. Look, either you control her or I'll do it, all right? It's just self-defense at this point, so don't give me any crap over it."

I didn't feel entirely inclined to agree with his assessment, but now wasn't the time to belabor the point. I stepped over next to Shamus, and interposed myself between her and the boy. A few discreet gnats placed on the undersides of his sleeve and the backs of his shoes ensured he couldn't move without my knowledge, even with my back turned.

"Let her go again, now," I said. "I'll keep her from beating your brains out, as much as I'd like to see it."

"Wow, partner, you and I have serious poles up our asses, don't we?" he said with Shamus's voice. I clenched my fists. "Okay, here we go again," he said.

Shamus's shoulders stiffened, and her nostrils flared.

"Don't listen to that prick, Flutter," she growled. "Just kill him right now. He can't stop you. I don't care if he takes me again. It won't last."

I gripped her shoulder firmly. "That's not happening," I said. "We're getting out of here, now. Don't make me force you."

Shamus stared at me, a fierce look in her eyes. For a moment, I honestly believed she was sizing me up to make an attempt at jumping me. The moment passed, and the light faded from her eyes. She slumped against me and nodded.

"Okay," she said. "Get me out of here, Flutter."

I looked to Jason, and did my best to project confidence worthy of a cape into my voice. "Don't worry, Jason. If he doesn't keep his word, I'll be back to make him do it. You'll be free soon. I'm sorry, please bear it for a little longer."

The boy made Jason do a mock swoon, then giggled nastily. I ignored him. There was no reason to give him the satisfaction of rising to the bait.

"You certainly are uptight," he said as Shamus and I turned to go. "Well, I had a great time meeting you. Don't be afraid to write!"

His mocking laughter rang in my ears as Shamus and I entered the stairwell. My bugs flowed along behind us. I was tempted to hold the formation around the boy as long as possible, but it seemed more prudent to be visibly holding up my end of the bargain.

Of course, before we went any further, I had to be sure Shamus really was the one in control next to me. I wouldn't at all put it past that boy to pretend to let her go. In fact, I had the distinct impression that he'd find the whole thing outright hilarious.

I turned to Shamus, who had recovered her footing and stood, albeit somewhat uneasily, next to me. "Sorry," I said, "but I have to be sure. How many fingers?"

Shamus sagged, but nodded. "Attagirl," she said. "Sorry, I'm still a little shaky. It feels like he's still lurking in here and could spring back out at any moment, even though I'm back in control." She rubbed her forehead. "Seven fingers," she said. "After that, you were going to do four, then two, then ten."

I let out the breath I'd unconsciously been holding. She had gotten it exactly.

With the knowledge that her safety was assured, the piece of paper folded against my collar grew red-hot in my awareness. I had to know.


	25. Turncoat 5-5

No sooner had we cleared the exterior chain-link fence then Lisa turned to me, her expression uncharacteristically sober.

"A pretty tremendous 'thank you' hug seemed in order, but you seem to have something else on your mind," she said. "What happened?"

I waved her down a nearby alley. On top of everything else, publicly picking a fight with my own partner would be the coup de grace.

"Seriously, what's up?" Lisa asked as she kicked a crumpled-up beer can out of her path. "Look, I get that you're pissed. I fucked up big-time not telling you where I was going. I should have kept you in the loop. I admit it, it was a major screw-up. But all's well that ends we-"

"Just don't, okay?" I said. My hand trembled as I reached for the paper. "Don't psychoanalyze me. _Please_ don't use your power on me. I need to have a real conversation with you, not a dissection."

Lisa paused in mid-sentence, looking wounded. Her brow knitted in concern, and she raised her hands. "I'm not, honest. I'd like to think I know my friend well enough to tell when she's pissed off at me without needing to rely on my superpowers."

Did I believe her? I couldn't even tell. I pulled out Lisa's file on me, unfolded the paper, and handed it to her without saying a word. My bugs buzzed frantically at the edges of my consciousness.

Lisa's lips tightened as she took the paper and scanned it. She let out a low groan.

"Fuck me. Look, it's not what it looks like-"

"Isn't it? Because to me, it looks like I was just some sick _fucking_ psychological experiment to the one person I thought I could trust. Here I was thinking maybe someone actually saw me as anything other than something to scrape off their fucking shoe. How stupid was I, right? You should know how hard trusting anyone was for me better than anyone, especially if you've been analyzing me like some psych ward patient." The buzzing grew louder in my eardrums, and my voice half-cracked with rage. "How could you do this to me? I feel like I'm going to be sick."

Lisa froze for a moment, seeming to think over her next words carefully. My whole body churned with a bilious mixture of nausea and white-hot anger. I wanted to hit her in the face, to break down and sob, to freeze up on the spot, to run in every different direction at once.

After a short eternity, Lisa spoke up. "First, before I say anything else, I need you to know that I'm trying really, really hard to stuff my power away and sit on it. You know it doesn't always work like that, but I'm _trying_. Okay? You're right. We do need to have an equal conversation about this." She took a deep breath, then continued.

"You deserve the full truth, so I'm gonna put all my cards on the table. But before I do that, I have to say this. You're my _friend_. You're not an experiment, you're not some mind game or some kind of sick puppet. You're the only person in this whole shitheap of a city who cared enough about me to find my stupid ass and bail it out of my own mess. That means everything to me. I don't think I could make it on my own. I need people. I need _you_. I've been happier these last few months than I've been in a long time, and it's all thanks to you. That day you came to me was the best thing that could've happened to me."

I shifted my weight, uncertain. "How can I believe any of that? That's exactly what your power would tell you to say, right? You can pick me apart like if my thoughts were projected like in a fucking comic book. That's what you've been doing for months, isn't it? Because you thought I was going to kill myself? For all I know, you're doing it right now."

Lisa pinched the bridge of her her nose. "I know, I know. I'm not. I know there's probably no way I can convince you that's true, but I'm not. And I haven't been doing it to you before today, either."

I flung a hand out at the piece of paper.

"What, so I just imagined that? Don't expect me to believe that you're some saint in all this. You wrote a note to monitor me, like you're my fucking case worker. How can you stand there and tell me with a straight face that you're my friend?"

The green of Lisa's eyes swirled with agitation.

"I was worried about you, okay? Of course I used my power on you when you first showed up. You were some stranger asking me to take a case. You would've expected me to do it. That's when I learned that you had powers, right in the middle of that conversation."

"And that I'm apparently going to throw myself off of a bridge?" My voice dripped with bitter sarcasm.

"Christ, no, Flutter, no. You were a brand-new cape intent on throwing yourself head-first into this gangster-ridden cesspit with zero experience and zero backup. With everything you'd been through, and with how you went after Shadow Stalker with zero hesitation, I thought that you might have some kind of a death wish. And yes, I'll admit, that concerned me."

I took a step towards her. "I'm still here, aren't I? I was never going to kill myself. It's fucked that you even thought that. And I tackled Shadow Stalker to save _you_. You're even the one who got shot! How can you possibly use that to justify screwing with my head?"

"That's not-" Lisa cut herself off and composed herself. "Yes, I was wrong, and _I'm sorry_," she said. "I know that. Which is why you're not some experiment to me. You're my friend. I'm not looking to save you from a problem you don't even have."

"Why were you ever? You don't get to play with my life to make yourself feel better."

Lisa whirled on me. Her eyes flashed as they met my gaze.

"We were about helping people, right? That's what you wanted to do with me, isn't it? Stop bad guys, save lives? Well, that's what I wanted to do for you, if you needed it. Once we had that run-in with Rune, though, I realized that you didn't need me to help you out of some mental trap. You just needed somebody to watch your back." She jerked a thumb at herself. "And I wanted to be that person, because I could already tell you were going to be one hell of a cape, and I was _lonely_. Meeting people for my cases helped, but those weren't meaningful relationships. I didn't have anybody I could dump all my crap on when it got to be too much for me." Lisa smiled weakly. "I'm not like you, Flutter. I can't internalize all that shit and plow on through it like you can. So, along you came, and you needed some help, and so did I, and I thought, why the hell not? And I asked you to be my partner. I might've told myself at the time that I was reaching down for you, but if I'm being truly honest, I think I was reaching up."

A crackle of energy shot through her voice.

"So, it makes me feel like garbage to know that I might've blown up the only meaningful relationship I have because I was too much of an idiot to level with you in the first place. I know it was a fuckup, but I don't think I could ever impress on you how much just having you around has made my life so, so much better." She snorted sadly and shook her head. "It's funny, but I'm more frightened now than I was when that sociopath took over my body. Go figure, right? Anyways, for what it's worth, that's my piece. I'm going to shut up and listen to you now."

True to her word, she fell silent. Under the circumstances, and especially for Lisa, that was no mean feat. I let the silence envelop the both of us as I digested her words. One way or another, I had to sort out my own feelings towards her.

I still felt betrayed, lied to. That hadn't changed, and I don't think Lisa could have said anything to make it. Even if she truly had abandoned her scheme just a week or so after I'd met her, the whole foundation of our friendship remained rotten.

But, if I was so angry about being lied to, I couldn't lie to myself in turn. Lisa wasn't Emma. Even if she had initially been driven by some patronizing sense of concern, Lisa had been there for me at the lowest point in my life. Working with me had gotten her shot, stabbed, and very nearly killed, and now subjected to what must have been the awful torture of being a prisoner in her own body.

Did that mean anything, though, if she'd done it for herself, not out of real friendship? My stomach churned.

Lisa watched me expectantly, hands deep in her pockets, the brim of her hat tilted low over her eyes. Her ponytail drooped raggedly to one side. She held her silence, only giving me a tight smile.

I thought back again on everything we'd done these past couple of months. No, I couldn't honestly say it felt fake, even now. But I needed more than that. I looked at Lisa, wishing I could pull off my hood. This wasn't the kind of conversation to have through mirrored lenses.

I took a deep breath. I knew what I had to say.

"You're my friend. You were there for me when nobody else was. My life is better because of you. That counts for a lot. But I want to know," I said. "If I'm going to get past this, I have to know."

Lisa quirked an eyebrow. "To know what?"

"You called how people get powers a 'trigger event', right? Like me getting shut in that locker? I want to know what happened to you."

Lisa's eyes widened, and she took a half-step back. Either she really was suppressing her power, or she was selling the charade with aplomb. She looked slightly queasy.

"I don't know if I can, Flutter," she said. "It's…not something I like to think about, much less talk about."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but that's not good enough anymore. You've known about all of my own fucked-up shit probably for months now. Meanwhile, you get to play all your own cards close to the vest. If you also want us to still be partners, to still be _friends_, you have to prove you're willing to really let me in. You have to prove you actually trust me, and that I can trust _you_. I can't be friends with someone who won't tell me about her own problems, who just ices me out. I won't do that again. Either let me in now, or I have to walk. That's it."

Lisa's jaw tightened. Her fingernails dug into her palms. "Okay," she said finally. "Okay, I think I can do it. I honestly do. But I'm not going to do it here. I hope you can understand why."

I nodded. "That's fine. Let's use the office."

With my stomach still roiling, we began the walk back to the office. The silence hung between us the entire way.

Lisa leaned back in her chair and ran a hand over her hair. "Well, fuck me," she said. "That's the whole fucked-up story, with no omissions." She met my gaze, and her voice caught slightly. "I'm not trying to justify what I did, but I hope you can understand where I was coming from, at least. I like to think that I put up a good front, but I've got just as many ridiculously deep-seated issues as anyone else in this biz."

I took a deep breath, and attempted to process the information about her trigger which Lisa had just shared with me. To be honest, and more than a little bit to my shame, I had never put much thought into the subject of Lisa's family. Of course she must have had one, and of course things must have gone pretty badly for her to be out here on her own at this age, but I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I had never bothered to think the implications through fully. No, I had been so absorbed in my own world that I had found no time whatsoever for considering hers.

My anger still simmered below the surface, but had been heavily diluted by a profound feeling of guilt and empathy for Lisa. I knew all too well what it was like to lose someone so close to you, to spend endless nights asking yourself what you could have done differently to nudge events just far enough off-course to change. Under those circumstances, extreme reactions were inevitable.

Lisa eyed me expectantly, but said nothing.

Finally, I spoke up.

"Thank you for telling me. I'm sure that was a hard thing to do, and I'm glad that you did it."

"You're welcome," Lisa mumbled. "If you still want to leave, I'll understand."

I thought it over for another moment. I had reached a decision.

I took a seat behind my desk.

"I understand where you were coming from," I said. "I still don't like it, and I'm still pretty upset about it. But," I said, "you're my friend, and, well, the thought of losing that is even more upsetting. You've done more for me than anyone has in years, even if you weren't coming from the greatest place initially. If I throw that all away because of my own fucked-up past problems, I'm not going to make myself any happier."

The stiffness seeped out of Lisa's posture. She exhaled in relief.

"I don't deserve a friend as good as you. Honestly, I mean that," she said. "You're like some kind of saint with how much of my bullshit you've put up with over the past couple months."

I smiled wryly and shook my head. "That might be overselling my qualities just a bit, I think."

In the end, the decision hadn't been as hard as I had thought. At first, I thought I had unwittingly walked into another fake friendship, genuinely pouring my heart out to someone who didn't really give a damn about me. Emma had thrown away our relationship just when I had needed her for reasons which remained a mystery to me. Lisa, on the other hand, had been there to pick me up, and had put herself in danger again and again for my sake. Stifling my outrage in order to acknowledge this truth had been difficult, but I couldn't deny it.

With that relieved, almost goofy smile still plastered on her face, Lisa swung away from me to grab one of her many wayward laptops. The office still had yet to recover fully from the havoc wreaked on it by Ms. Readman's paper tornado. Probably a project for another weekend.

Lisa cracked open the laptop and booted it up. "I'm going to find us a real case this time," she said with a smile. "I don't think I'm being too hard on myself when I say that I've made a real mess of these last few ones."

A smile of my own spread across my face. I leaned back in my chair, put my feet up on my desk, and looked up at the ceiling, where the fan spun in its long, languid circles.

"That's all water under the bridge," I said.

Lisa leaned back herself, and watched my bugs flit by.

The next few days passed uneventfully. With my phone still in the office and an uncharacteristic lack of midday appearances at Arcadia, I didn't see much of Lisa aside from the occasional PHO chat. I assumed she was simply giving me some space. That might have been understandable, but it did feel a little excessive. I'd forgiven her, after all, hadn't I? Now that we were finally on an even footing, I wanted nothing more than for things to go back to the way they'd been.

Having resolved on the way to the cafeteria to talk to Lisa about it, I wasn't particularly surprised when she once more dropped into the seat next to mine at a once-again otherwise empty table, this time holding a sizable carton of cafeteria fries. She pushed the fries across the table towards me.

"Heya, partner," she said with a wink. "Sorry for the radio silence. It won't happen again, promise. I was just…working out some of my own shit." She smiled, a little weakly. "This may surprise you, but I have some issues with opening up. I'm working on it, really."

"As well as you're working on not doing your Holmes routine?" I inquired mildly before taking a bite out of my sandwich.

Lisa stiffened for a moment, then chuckled. "Hey, keep honing your skills like that and I may end up begging you to be merciful with the banter. Who'da thunk, huh?"

"I've learned from the best," I said.

Lisa chuckled, then grew serious. "Look, Taylor, I wanted to say again, well, sorry. I think a lot more groveling is in order, in fact, especially after you pulled my bacon out of the fire like that. You came through for me in such a huge way, and I just let you down over and over again. You deserve better, and-"

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "Seriously, don't worry about it," I said. "I understand where you were coming from, I really do. Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn't easy, but it meant a lot to me."

Lisa nodded. "And unburdening myself made me feel better as well, of course, like I always knew it would."

I raised an eyebrow. She smiled sheepishly.

"Well, just because I knew it doesn't mean I could make myself _do _it, you know? Emotions are hard. You know, you're getting pretty combative for the Watson, don't you think?"

I snagged a particularly large cockroach and scurried it over Lisa's shoe. She yelped, scowled, and half-heartedly flipped a fry at me as I smirked.

"I swear, one of these days I'm going to break my gross-out reflex just to stop you from holding that over my head all the time," she said.

"There's always bigger bugs," I said mildly. With the hubbub of the lunchroom providing adequate-enough cover, I leaned in somewhat conspiratorially. "So, what's our next case?"

That vulpine grin spread lazily across Lisa's face. "I thought you'd never ask," she said. She rummaged in the backpack next to her feet, pulled out a thinly rolled-up paper, and thwapped it onto the table in front of me. "My article finally got published. Whaddya say we go hit the streets and dig up some local dirt for the next one? Who knows, maybe it'll be about us. I think we could cut a pretty dashing figure for the press, don't you?"

"Maybe if I stayed out of frame," I said. Lisa snorted and flicked another fry.

After that, we just chatted and laughed about the usual high school inanities: classes, weird teachers, who I thought was cute, until the bell rang.

It felt good.

**A/N:**

Well, folks, as promised, that brings us to the end of the Taylor PoV chapters! Thanks for sticking with me this far. There'll be two more epilogue chapters to round things out.


	26. Turncoat 5-x

All things considered, Lisa was having a pretty damn good day. The sun was shining, the streets were bustling, and a warm breeze was blowing. Oh, and she also had somehow managed to avoid irreversibly fucking up her only friendship, too. Yeah, maybe it was that, come to think of it.

As she strolled through downtown Brockton Bay, she felt like leaping out of sheer happiness. That would've cut a bit too much against the worldly, cynical image she'd crafted, though, and so she settled for a brief, celebratory chuckle instead.

The 36-year-old woman passing her on the sidewalk shot her an odd look.

_Doesn't like people laughing in public. Doesn't like people laughing. Doesn't like laughing. Suffering from a recent trauma, personal. Just ended a relationship. Just ended a six-year relationship. Just ended a six-year relationship two days before the wedding, when she caught the groom…_

Lisa shook her head, as though she might physically derail her train of thought, and snapped back to the here and now. If there was any day she didn't want to be bothered with people's drama, it was today. It wasn't like her power really gave her a say in the matter, of course, but she'd do her best to avoid getting dragged down the rabbit hole.

Lisa made her way across the heart of Downtown with a particular spring in her step. In the warm embrace of the midday sun, everything seemed a little brighter and a little cleaner. Even the streets themselves seemed to sparkle, albeit just a little. If Lisa hadn't been in such a sickeningly good mood, she might have slapped herself to shatter the nauseating optimism.

But in a sickeningly good mood she was, and so she settled for whistling an obnoxiously catchy pop tune as she strode along. Without her mask and coat, she blended seamlessly into the early afternoon pedestrian traffic. Well, mostly seamlessly. A sharp observer might wonder what a (presumable) Arcadia student was doing out of school amidst all the office workers taking a late lunch or making an early departure, but that was hardly worth worrying about.

Halfway down the next block, sun gleamed off of a pale, shaven scalp, forcing its way through Lisa's blithe thoughts. She frowned. A skinhead, so scrawny and gangly that he couldn't have been any older than her, was strolling down the block at a leisurely pace.

Did it really have to be now? Did she really have to get involved? Maybe he was just some stupid high schooler with exceptionally poor taste in haircuts.

Yeah, right. The residual guilt over nearly ruining things with Taylor must have been spilling over the mental dams she'd attempted to erect around it. Lisa Wilbourn getting involved with random street crime? A year ago, she never would have thought she'd see the day.

Lisa sighed, and let the mental walls around her power slip.

_Dropped out of school. Dropped out of school because of gang involvement. New to the gang. New to the gang and hasn't been initiated yet. Hasn't been initiated yet; being initiated today._ _Being initiated by proving they're willing to beat the shit out of someone. _

Well, that about figured.

_Finding a target now. Targeting the woman half a block down. Planning on forcing her into the alley. _

Lisa wanted to groan. Instinct told her to just walk away. You couldn't save everyone; you couldn't even save most people. Most of the time, all you could do was maybe get yourself added to the casualty list, and for what? For trying to hold back the tide with a bucket? Still, the nagging voice in the back of her head refused to shut up. After everything which had happened, she couldn't shake the guilt-ridden need to prove herself worthy.

The whole situation was ridiculous, and yet she found herself drifting across the street, her pace quickening, even as the skinhead set off in pursuit of his target. Was she really going to do this? She still wasn't entirely certain. Evidently, Taylor had been a very harmful influence on her. But what was she going to do about this, anyways? She wasn't in costume, which severely limited her options right off the bat. An Empire thug doubtless wouldn't find a skinny teenage girl particularly intimidating, no matter how sharp her smile.

Towards the end of the block, the Empire goon jerked his head towards the woman, motioning towards the alley. _Scream_, Lisa thought. Of course, she didn't. The guy might be a scumbag, but he could pick a target. She didn't need her power to tell her that the guy had probably slipped a knife into his hand. The woman froze for a moment, and then edged into the alley, spurred on by a sharp shove from the man. Lisa sighed again as she picked up her pace. Yes, apparently she really was going to do this. Next step, throwing herself in front of a speeding car to save a squirrel.

Lisa hurried across the street and down the block. As she went, she scooped up a baseball-sized chunk of concrete loosened in a recent cape fight, weighed it in her hand, and nodded. It would do. She peeked her head around the corner of the alley. The woman had backed away as far as possible, but now had her back up against the wall, quite literally. As the skinhead advanced on her, Lisa shouted "Hey, dickwad!", did her best windup, and hurled the chunk of concrete at the back of his shaven head. It struck home in his lower back with a _clonk_. Maybe a little work on her throwing arm wouldn't go amiss. As the goon whirled to face her, Lisa waved jauntily, and then took off at a run. She already knew he was going to tear after her.

Now came the exciting part. Not for the first time, Lisa rued her relative lack of cardio. It might be time to start joining Taylor on those morning runs, as abhorrent as the idea of exercising that early in the morning might seem. Adrenaline shot through her long-suffering muscles as she sprinted for the end of the block. She wove through a few passersby, none of whom read as likely to intervene, even if asked by a teenage girl pursued by a clearly thuggish man.

"Get back here, you little bitch!" yelled the goon from behind her. That was about the level of repartee she'd expected. Lisa took a moment to flip him off. The gesture threw off her stride somewhat, but you couldn't neglect the little things in life. With cars whizzing through the intersection in front of her, Lisa abruptly swerved to the right and tore down that side of the block. "Feel free to jump in any time!" she yelled to the few pedestrians in the vicinity, who had busied themselves scuttling out of her path. "It's not like my life's in danger or anything!"

Predictably, nobody jumped in. She didn't need her power to tell her why. Screwing with Brockton Bay's most prominent cape gang didn't pay a lot of dividends.

A cruel laugh came from behind her. "You're dead, bitch!" her pursuer howled with glee, exhibiting about the level of vocabulary Lisa had expected. Of course, a firm command of the English language was by no means a requisite to spreading her brains on the pavement. Her breaths had already started to come a little faster and a little harder, and the goon's footsteps didn't sound far behind.

Lisa stole a glance at her cheap digital wristwatch as she ran. Shame that it wasn't the high-end silver one she wore as part of her costume. She might have contrived a way to do some damage with the heft of that one. Making an attempt to dial the police on her phone would add some drag which she could ill afford. Even if it saved her from a beating rather than putting her through one, Lisa had very little appetite for exposing her civilian identity to any kind of police investigation.

_Still chasing you. Still chasing you because he's selected you as the new target for his initiation. Planning on breaking most of your ribs…_

Thanks for that one, Lisa thought. Very helpful. In the absolute worst case, at least, her pulped face in the papers tomorrow might serve as a salutary example for all the mouth-breathers buying into the Empire's "racial solidarity" nonsense. You could be Adolf Hitler in the flesh and they'd still happily kick your teeth in if you thumbed your nose at them.

Something swiped at her jacket from behind. Lisa quickly shrugged the jacket free. It looked great on her, but not "serious but stable condition" great. She had about 1.02 seconds to come up with a workable plan to avoid her no-expenses-paid trip to the ICU.

As the thug snarled and, presumably, reached for her again, Lisa abruptly broke her stride by hurling herself downwards in what she fervently hoped was a smooth motion. The skinhead exclaimed in surprise as Lisa slammed into his legs mid-stride. Pain flared in her kneecaps and palms as rough concrete scraped at her. She grunted with the impact as the goon tumbled over her and slammed into the cement, but managed to hold in her breath. Before he could rise, she scrabbled back to her feet, grabbed him by the head, and rang his undoubtedly thick skull against the unyielding iron of a nearby streetlamp. He mumbled something, half-dazed, and flopped an arm towards her. Lisa gave him another ring for good measure, and he dropped to the pavement, insensate.

She took a deep breath and winced. The collision had clearly left at least a couple of bruises, to say nothing of the throbbing from her now-bloodied palms and knees. "But you should see the other guy," she muttered, and grinned. She gave the prostrate thug a swift kick in the ribs for good measure. "Hey, thanks for the help!" she sneered at pedestrians hurrying down the other side of the street. "My heroes!" One of them at least had enough dignity to glance her way and look embarrassed.

Having made her point to her satisfaction, Lisa doubled back for her mercifully intact jacket, then limped around the corner at the fastest speed she could muster. The more distance she put between herself and the probable police investigation, the better. She took a moment to take in another deep breath and reassess the situation. What had she been thinking, getting involved? That was the kind of rank idiocy she'd have scoffed at months ago. Putting your life on the line to save one person you'd never met from a stay in the hospital didn't make the world a better place. It didn't even make Brockton Bay a better place. No, the sole effect was to potentially truncate your own extremely precious life for the sake of a few minutes of moral superiority.

Still, she'd already done the damage, so she might as well try to live with it.

Lisa's power nagged at the back of her mind.

_Woman shocked, frozen. Not able to process situation. Still in the alley…_

Lisa groaned, but turned and picked her way back along a path towards the alley. Of course, she came at it from a different angle, taking great care to avoid retracing her steps. Apparently, playing the hero wasn't enough for her today. No, today she was a trauma counselor, too.

Just as her power had predicted, the woman she'd saved from the Empire thug still trembled towards the back of the alley, like cornered prey. She looked up at Lisa, startled, but remained mute.

"You're welcome," Lisa said. "What the hell are you still doing here? I didn't run cover for you for the fun of it."

The woman shook her head weakly, clutching her bag to her chest. She refused to meet Lisa's eyes. Her lips moved faintly, but no sound emerged.

Lisa crossed her arms. "Oh, come _on_. Just get out of here already, would you? You're putting me on edge." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "He's going to be on the pavement for a while sleeping off the concussion I gave him, so if that's what you're worried about, scram."

The woman jerked her head in a feeble nod before finally scrambling off and disappearing around the corner. Lisa watched her go, and sighed. At least that was done with, finally.

She promptly jumped about six feet as a voice spoke up from behind her.

"You shouldn't go out of your way to help trash like that."

Lisa whirled around, her brain filling in the picture for her even as she did so.

There, perched on a second-story windowsill behind her, was the cherry on top of a perfect afternoon.

Shadow Stalker's cloak fluttered out of sync with the warm breeze wafting down the alley.

Fortunately, Lisa's reflexes never missed a beat when it came to needling this particular sociopath, or she might actually have been caught somewhat wrong-footed.

"Thanks for the help," she said, her lips in a sarcastic twist. "Unfortunately, it seems like you missed your chance to jump in."

_Not following the patrol schedule. Not on patrol. Out for her own amusement. Needs amusement, frustrating day at school. Frustrating, because she got chewed out by the Wards again…_

Not that there was any point dwelling on that line of thought too deeply now, with the concealment of her identity an absolute necessity.

Shadow Stalker shrugged. "You didn't need it. You should be proud of that. Most of the whimpering sheep in this shithole don't have the guts to do jack about anything."

Being complimented by Shadow Stalker was even more distressing than staring down her loaded crossbows.

"Gee, thanks for the pep talk, but feel free to pitch in to stop the skinhead next time," Lisa said, taking care to slather on an extra-thick layer of sarcasm. "I'd rather have a fully-functioning set of organs than my pride, if it's all the same to you."

Shadow Stalker shrugged again. "Whatever. Not my problem."

Lisa knew she should let things go at that, but just couldn't help herself.

"Isn't it, though? I mean, you _are_ a Ward, aren't you?"

_Thinks you're too stupid to get her point. Disappointed. Rolling her eyes…_

Gee, thanks for the info, Lisa thought.

"Look, if you don't get what I'm saying, your problem," Shadow Stalker said, her voice cold. "Maybe you'll understand someday. I've got better stuff to do for now." Her form misted black, and she fell backwards through the window, out of sight.

"Thanks for nothing, nutjob!" Lisa yelled after her. She took a deep breath, and grinned. While unexpected, a chance to needle Shadow Stalker without any likelihood of reprisal had done wonders for her mood. She could almost forgive herself the suicidally stupid heroic grandstanding, now. Lisa checked her wristwatch. Taylor had probably been wondering where she was for some time. She hurried off in the direction of Arcadia High, humming contentedly as she went.

Taylor stood near the main entrance, against the wrought-iron fence which stood between the school and the street. She looked up as Lisa approached.

"Did anything happen? It's not like you to be late."

Lisa smiled. "No biggie. I just had a little run-in with somebody who wasn't up to anything particularly good, but believe me, you should see the other guy. Burgers?"


	27. Turncoat 5-y

Victoria Dallon bathed in the lambent glow of a brilliant full moon as she soared over the twinkling nighttime skyline of Brockton Bay. Her cape, trailed out behind her, snapped in the wind rushing past her face. Not at all a bad night for a flight. In the absence of anything planned for the evening by New Wave, and with Ames out at one of the hospitals, a quick bit of solo patrolling before linking up with Dean had seemed like a great way to pass what might otherwise have been some wasted hours.

As she passed over the last skyscraper of Downtown and dropped down to match the lower buildings, a faint glow caught her eye. A couple blocks to her west, on the roof of a five-story apartment building, a laptop screen stood out bright against the darkness. Her curiosity piqued, Victoria shot up to avoid detection, and flew closer. As she approached, she saw two figures hunched over the laptop, their backs to the three-foot-high brick wall which enclosed the top of the building. Victoria peered a little closer, then nodded. It might be dark, but that combination of fedora and coat with a petite female frame were unmistakable. Only Shamus was eccentric enough to sport that look, which also identified the gangly figure next to her as Flutter.

With nothing else to distract her, Victoria found herself unable to resist the tug of curiosity. She dropped down towards the roof and touched down silently on the far side. Both Shamus and Flutter remained fixated on the laptop

"Hiya, Flutter, Shamus," she said with a cheery wave. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you guys up to?"

Shamus's head snapped up, and she bit her lip to choke down a startled exclamation. Victoria carefully smoothed any hint of satisfaction out of her facial expression. Messing with people like that might be rude, true, but she'd gotten the impression that Shamus needed you to needle her a bit to get any real respect from her. Flutter, on the other hand, didn't so much as budge. Her lenses hid her eyes, but from her non-reaction Victoria would have bet she'd sensed her during the landing. That had to be the early-warning bug sensor net Flutter had mentioned when they'd pulled her and Shamus off of that rooftop. Victoria marveled at the possibilities. Honestly, she had to find the time to sit Flutter down and talk through her power at length.

"Jeez, you scared the crap out of me!" Shamus said with a groan. She nudged Flutter. "You could have warned me, you know?"

Flutter shrugged innocently. "She came down pretty quickly."

Shamus scowled. "You just wanted to see me jump, admit it."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that." Flutter waved back to Victoria. "It's good to see you, Glory Girl. I hope you're doing OK."

Victoria smiled. "I am, thanks. Hey, is that a new costume? It looks great." The drab, utilitarian grays which had previously comprised Flutter's outfit, suggesting some kind of giant spider or pillbug, had been replaced by rich orange and black. The overall effect was much more welcoming. Victoria found herself nodding in approval.

"It is, thanks," Flutter said. "Actually, talking to you got me thinking about my image a lot more, and Shamus ended up connecting me with Parian to work on the design."

"You should've seen how horrified she was at what Flutter was walking around in," Shamus said. "Personally, though, it was a lot easier to cast you as the bad cop in that outfit. I'm too much of a conversationalist to make a convincing one myself, either."

Shamus motioned to Victoria. "Hey, take a seat over here and stay low, alright? We're in the middle of a stakeout here. A Greek goddess walking around on the rooftop is going to draw some eyeballs."

Victoria nodded, crouched, and scurried over to join them. She sat on the other side of Shamus and peered at the screen, which appeared to show video feeds of the exterior and interior of the adjacent building. "So, you guys are doing a stakeout? Do you have a webcam set up or something?"

"Yup," Flutter said. "We set one up on the rim of the roof here, and I planted a couple other small ones inside that building earlier with bug teams."

"That's pretty creative," Victoria said. "I'm not sure if it's entirely by-the-books legal, but I'm not my mom, so I'm not saying anything. Hey, what kind of bugs did you haul it with? That sounds like it'd be pretty difficult."

"Well, it involves quite a lot of spider silk," Flutter said. "But you'd be surprised what you can get done with enough bugs."

"What inspired you to drop in, if you don't mind me asking?" Shamus asked, just a tad peevishly. "I seriously need to get into the habit of looking at the sky more, apparently, with all you guys zipping around willy-nilly up there. Have I ever mentioned how unfair it is that flying's always a package deal?"

"But it's interesting that it is, right?" Victoria said. "I mean, why is that? Arbitrarily defying gravity's just as impossible as making an antimatter bomb, but you never see any Tinkers who can naturally fly. Or Thinkers, for that matter. Doesn't that make you curious?"

"A little, I guess?" Flutter said. She quirked her head. "I guess I never thought about it too much, honestly." The neutral tone of her voice and the bulbous matte of her goggles still created a fairly intimidating impression, even with the new suit. Suggesting she add some color had definitely been the right choice.

Shamus quirked an eyebrow. "Wow, I didn't realize you were _this_ much of a cape geek. That's pretty surprising. Uh, no offense?"

Not taking the bait seemed to be the wisest course of action. "Aren't you too? You've got investigative Thinker powers, after all, right? I mean, I assumed from the detective outfit, but you've clearly put a lot of work into cultivating that image. I figured you'd be all over these kinds of big-picture mysteries."

"That's a trade secret," Shamus said with a non-committal twist of her lips. "Now, quit dangling intriguing existential questions in front of me before I get a headache. I've got a stakeout to focus on here."

"That's not her being rude or anything, by the way. She literally will get a headache," Flutter added helpfully. "You could maybe call it a bit of karmic justice for getting to lord it over us the rest of the time."

Victoria chuckled. Flutter certainly had changed. When New Wave had first pulled Shamus and Flutter off of that rooftop months ago, Victoria had done her best to learn a bit about Flutter by drawing her into a conversation, but the girl had almost seemed unused to just talking to people. Now, though, it seemed like she could hold her own, and then some. All things considered, Shamus had probably been pretty lucky to find a partner who knew how to be a little more diplomatic.

That brought another thought back to Victoria's mind.

"Hey, what ended up happening with that jaunt you took through Empire territory a while back? Did you end up finding whatever you needed?"

"Oh, uh, yeah", Flutter said. "That all ended up working out. Thanks for asking."

"That's good to hear. The Empire hasn't been pressuring you guys too much, has it?" Victoria asked. She cracked her knuckles. "We'd always be happy to jump in and help if they do. It'd be a genuine pleasure, I promise."

"Appreciated, but we've got the situation under control," Shamus said. "If they want to fuck with us, let's just say they'll find out that there's big downsides to trying to push around Thinkers."

"I'm sure you guys have a handle on it, but if things do get a little too nasty, don't wait until it's too late to reach out," Victoria said. "You guys are good people, and god knows those are in scarce enough supply in Brockton these days. Plus, any chance to pound on those guys is seriously welcome."

"We'll keep that in mind," Flutter said. Her head tilted towards the laptop screen. "Hey, did something just move on camera two?"

Shamus hummed. "Maybe, maybe. I still don't think that this guy's going to shift for at least a few more minutes, though."

Victoria adjusted her crouch and leaned in. "What's with the stakeout, if you don't mind me asking?" she said. "Are you guys on another Empire case?" Sure, it might be butting in a little, but where was the harm in asking?

"Gee, you've got the Empire on the brain," Shamus said. "Nah, we figured it'd be best to avoid prodding them in the eye for a bit. This is some pretty bog-standard PI work for a change. Extortion, theft, all very petty and _extremely_ sordid."

"It is a little refreshing to not have to worry about the other guys having superpowers for once," Flutter said. "I could get used to that." Her posture shifted a bit awkwardly. "Although I guess I did get us nabbed by run-of-the-mill goons our first time out."

Shamus waved a hand. "First of all, we agreed we'd split the blame on that, and second, I'd like to think we've learned from that particular experience. Not gonna happen again on my watch."

"Hence the cameras, I assume?" Victoria said.

Shamus nodded. "Exactly. The watchword is watchfulness."

Flutter shook her head. "If that's what you came up with, you must be even more tired than I am, which is really saying something."

Shamus grimaced. "Not my best work, I'll admit," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I really am beat."

"How long have you been up here for, anyways?" Victoria said.

Shamus checked the _very_ expensive watch adorning her left wrist. The understated, classic style of the watch perfectly complimented Shamus's finely-tailored vintage coat. Might be Parian's work there too, come to think of it.

"That'd be, uh, six hours now? Wow, really? Jesus. What a way to spend an afternoon."

"And evening, now," Flutter added helpfully. Shamus just groaned.

"Honestly, I'd have a hard time staking something out for more than like thirty minutes, and that might be a charitable estimate," Victoria said. "You guys have seriously been up here all day? Hats off to you."

Shamus doffed her hat in reply, then pointed the hand holding it at Victoria's head. "Looks like you forgot to wear yours today. Happens to the best of us."

"I imagine the gesture would look a bit silly with a tiara," Victoria said.

"Point taken," Shamus said. "Say, aren't you going to miss linking up with that Protectorate patrol you're meeting?"

"Eh, I've got a few minutes." It _was_ a little creepy how she did that. And fascinating, of course. Not telepathy, obviously, but then what was it?

"Oh, you'd better believe it's telepathy," Shamus said with a devious waggle of the eyebrows. "Like an open book."

Victoria smirked. "Yeah, sure. Careful about piquing my interest if you do want to keep the particulars a secret. I've been looking for another research project to dive into."

"Well, if you're ever in the mood, I could probably use some more info on how mine works," Flutter said. "I keep feeling like I should be able to sense more through my bugs, but I can't quite work out how. It feels like it just keeps barely sliding past my fingertips."

"That does sound like exactly my kind of fun," Victoria said with a grin. "If I turn anything up I'll let you know." She peered at the camera feeds again. "Are you sure you don't want me to just bust in there and grab the guy? Ten seconds, tops."

Shamus sighed. "As fantastically tempting as that is given how long we've spent sitting on this rooftop, I'm afraid it's not that kind of case. If we thought the brute-force approach approach would work, I'd have Flutter covering this guy with centipedes from head to toe right now."

"To be clear, vicious bug swarms are not my first solution to everything," Flutter said. "Sometimes I think we give off the wrong impression there."

"Hey, if it works," Shamus said. Victoria wasn't quite sure, on account of the mask, but she thought she heard Flutter give a resigned sigh.

"Anyways, thanks for the offer to help," Flutter added. "Y'know, I think I'd love to punch through a wall at least once in my life. It must be quite a rush."

Victoria laughed. "Well, I can't lie, it does feel pretty fantastic. Great way to let off a little steam. Even so, though, you two guys have a completely unique way of perceiving and interacting with the world, in a way that I literally probably can't even comprehend. Don't you think that's kinda incredible?"

Shamus beamed. "Why yes, I do think I'm pretty incredible. It's about time some other people started noticing. Thanks for that!"

Victoria snorted. "I'm very happy to have helped," she said dryly. "Really, don't mention it."

Flutter tilted her head, as though listening to some unseen voice. A moment later, she turned to Shamus. "I'm pretty sure our guy's on the move," she said.

"Bug tracer?" Victoria asked. Honestly, it truly was a fascinating power.

Flutter nodded. "People still haven't seemed to catch on. I guess I'm still flying under the radar."

"And the lower the profile, the smaller the target, which suits us just fine for now," Shamus said. "Yup, there he is on camera two, heading downstairs. That's our cue." Shamus snapped the laptop shut, slid it into a backpack on the ground next to her, and clambered to her feet. Flutter scooped up the backpack and tugged it on. Shamus clearly felt that toting around a backpack would clash more than a bit with her exquisitely tailored outfit. She had a point there.

"Sorry to bail on you, but we have to get moving," Flutter said. "We've got to tail this guy a ways across town."

"The plot thickens!" Victoria said. "Well, don't let me keep you. Thanks for humoring me." She rose a few feet into the air and gave the two of them a jaunty two-finger salute. "You guys have to fill me in the next time I see you!"

"As long as you don't nearly give me a heart attack again," Shamus said. "That's my one condition."

"Think of it as me keeping you on your toes," Victoria said with a wink. "You never know who might be flying around up here! Seeya around, guys."

Flutter waved goodbye, and nudged Shamus, who half-heartedly waved as well. The two of them disappeared into the roof stairwell as Victoria rose into the night.


End file.
